Blackout
by Stabson
Summary: Everything you two have is in danger of fading.
1. Lit

A/N: Hello, lovely readers. I know, I have like three other projects I should be working on, but this plot bunny hopped right into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. It seems to be happening a lot lately. Warning: this is my first time writing second person point of view, so forgive me for any awkward sentences or anything like that. I'm still getting the hang of it. Another warning: this is an Olivia-centric story, something that I have not really done at all in the past because frankly, writing Olivia kind of scares me. Any of you who've read more than one story from me in the past probably knows that I'm more of an Elliot-writing gal. Yay for trying new things!

Anyway, please enjoy!

* * *

You wake up to light seeping in through the half-open blinds, a cool breeze, and a warm, hard body pressed against your back. Rolling over carefully, his sleeping face greets you. He's snoring slightly, lips parted, completely dead to the world and to your smoldering gaze as you watch him. Your eyes roam over the strong cords of his neck, his chest and down his abs- abs that you now have a strong urge to run your tongue over. Maybe that's how you'll wake him this morning, on the day off the two of you share. You have absolutely no intention of putting any sort of clothing on or leaving this bed from this moment until you have to go back to work twenty-four hours from now.

Just as you're about to lean over to wake him with your mouth, his eyes crack open and he smiles. "Mornin'." His voice is deep and thick with sleep. You've stopped wondering why the sound alone sends pangs of arousal down your body.

"Good morning," you answer. Your fingertips trail over his warm chest, further south and then back up again, bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin.

"Mmm," he murmurs, rolling easily from his side to the familiar spot between your legs. They spread to accommodate him without a second thought and his lips descend on yours. They're warm and chapped, but soft at the same time and you wonder how he makes you feel these butterflies in your chest when no other man has been able to do it before.

He takes his time kissing you, even as you feel him hard and ready against the inside of your thigh. It's going to be slow this morning- you're okay with that. Whether it's slow or fast, rough or gentle, you're on your back or he's on his, he always manages to extract things from you that you never knew you could feel.

"El," you whisper, clutching at his waist, trying to pull him closer. He smiles- it's that gentle smile that you're pretty sure he reserves for only you, the one that crinkles his eyelids, shines brightly in his irises and all but demands your lips to turn upward as well.

"Liv." He bends to kiss you. Just as your teeth scrape along his bottom lip, his hips press forward gently.

As soon as his hips connect with yours, a strangled sound emanates from your chest and your back arches up into him. He's everywhere around you- on top of you, inside you, pressed completely against your skin. His movement is slow and deep and each time he presses all the way into you, you hear a shuddering breath expel from his chest.

"Liv," he whispers in your ear. Your fingernails dig into his back, break through his skin and he grunts, sliding deeper into your body. The sticky sweat that pools on his back seeps into your arms as they cling to him. The few months that you've been with him like this aren't nearly enough to get used to the idea. Every time you're with him, it feels like the first time.

Fire is building up in your stomach. Your lower half tingles- he's so close to driving you over the edge. So close.

"Olivia," he murmurs. His arm squeezes around you as his pace quickens and his breath comes out in short puffs against your neck. "I wanna see you come."

You throw your head back against the pillow beneath you. You're utterly helpless underneath him, you're going to come. He's hitting you at just the right angle, with just the right speed, rubbing in just the right places. He knows you inside and out, and he knows how to drive you all flavors of wild. The moans that expel from your chest are so loud that his neighbors probably hear you, but you're helpless to stop them. You suck a piece of his shoulder into your neck and scrape your teeth along it to distract your mouth from moaning. You're sure that he's going to have a mark later on.

"Liv." Jesus, is it even possible for a voice to reach that decibel? You wonder how his voice can make you feel so good, but honestly, do you really care about the reason?

You're too busy thinking about the fact that you're going to come in seconds.

Even though you're sure he knows what he's doing to you, knows you're about to come without any assistance, his hand still finds a way to cram itself between your bodies and run ever so gently along your most sensitive parts. The orgasm that follows is anything but gentle. It rips through your body and makes your legs clamp around him. Your head buried in the crook of his neck as waves of delicious fire slam over you.

"Liv." His soft voice is the only thing that brings you back. It's gentle and soothing, drawing you back to the room and to his body over yours. A grin is plastered across his face like he knows exactly what he's done to you and he's proud of it. _Bastard._ "You okay?"

Your hips roll into his and before he can do anything about it, you have him on his back. He's not surprised as his hands find a home on your thighs. His grin disappears as soon as you start moving once again. You watch each reaction on his face, each tiny movement as you slide up and down the length of him. Just like he knows your body, you know his. You know exactly what to do to send him into overdrive and that's what you're doing.

His eyes close slowly as he pushes a breath past his lips and bucks up towards you. When his hands grip your thighs tighter, you know he's getting close. When he bites his lip and breathes heavily through his nose, his entire body straining beneath you, you move a little faster, encouraging him to let go just as you had moment ago. Two thrusts after that, his hands skate around your back, grasp your waist and pull you downward, driving up all the way into you as he comes. Moans that sound an awful like your name trip from his lips.

Once it's over, you slide off of him and collapse into his side in a sated slum. Your body is so relaxed you don't think you'll be able to move for hours and your eyelids are heavy- you think about closing your eyes and falling asleep right here and now, but instead, they lock onto his face. His lips are parted, eyes still closed as he catches his breath. As soon as he does, he rolls onto his side and focuses on you, raising his hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He smiles, leans forward to peck you on the lips, but says nothing. He doesn't need to, you already know what he's thinking. _Amazing. Beautiful._ You're neither of these things, but you know if you said the same to him, he'd deny it as well. Maybe that's the beauty of what you have- you see things in the other you don't see in yourselves.

A loud rumbling interrupts your thoughts and Elliot's chest shakes with soft chuckles. "Hungry?" he murmurs gently.

"Not my fault you take all of my energy," you answer.

"We can't have that." His body disappears from next to yours. "Let me see what I can scrounge up."

He slips on the pair of briefs you tore from his body last night after you arrived at his place and your eyes trail down the rippling muscles of his broad shoulders and back as he exits the bedroom. As soon as he leaves, you allow your eyelids to slide closed.

You wake once more to Elliot's hand sliding gently down your back. A plate full of sliced fresh fruit and hardboiled eggs balances in his grip as he sits against the headboard. You follow his lead, sitting so close that your bodies brush together as you share bites of crisp green grapes, apple slices and juicy strawberries. Once the plate is empty and your stomach is full, he sets it on the nightstand and turns on the television mounted on the far wall- the one that you helped him pick out and install when he moved into the apartment a few months ago. As daytime television plays on in the background, your lips find his and you kiss slowly and passionately. An episode of House is blaring on in the background when you find yourself being pulled into his lap once again. This time, he controls the pace as he slides up into you.

Your early morning vision for the day isn't far from how you and Elliot spend it. You lay in bed, the blaring television acting only as background noise as the two of you make out like teens, go several more hot and sweaty rounds, and eventually shower together in the early afternoon. As the sun falls below the horizon, Elliot calls the local pizza place and orders a feast for the two of you: pizza and the hot wings you both love. It's been a long and stressful week for both of you, making your lazy day with him even more special. You'd be completely okay if you spend every day just like this.

Around eight o'clock, the moment you've been putting off since you woke up finally comes. "I should get home." But you don't want to. Your body is aching to crawl naked back into bed with him and drift into the deep, comforting sleep that his body always provides. You both have work tomorrow, though, and you need to keep up at least the image of professionalism. Cragen has been giving the two of you long, troubled glances for at least a few weeks now. It's growing harder and harder to hide the shift in your dynamic that has taken place.

"Okay." Elliot follows you into the bedroom and watches you get dressed. He walks you to the door, takes both of your hands in his larger, warmer ones and then leans forward to kiss you. When he pulls away, he bites his lip, like he's holding on to a secret he's not sure he wants to reveal.

"What is it?" you ask softly.

Elliot doesn't answer at first. Instead, he lifts your hands and presses a kiss to the back of each one before dragging his gaze back up to your eyes. His irises are bright and warm just as they always are when he looks at you in the comfort of either one of your apartments, but there's something beneath the warmth- a dark cloud of fear or apprehension, you're not sure. It's tying your stomach in knots.

"El?"

"Olivia, he answers. His Adam's apple bobs and finally, he says, "I love you."

 _What did he just say?_

You're frozen still and words have completely escaped you. _He what?_

Your mind is blank. You open your mouth to speak, but words elude you. He's staring at you and you can't decipher the emotion in his eyes anymore- is he expecting you to…? You're not ready for that. You're not nearly ready to have heard that statement fall from his lips.

Finally, you stutter out the only thing that you can think of to say. "I-I'll see you tomorrow."

Before he gets a chance to respond, you slip out the door and slam it behind you.

/

Your head is pounding by the time you reach your building. Mechanically, you get out of your car and walk up the stairs to your empty apartment. The second you lock the door behind you, you head for the cupboard for the bottle of wine you keep there. You need something to calm your nerves. Elliot's sudden admission was the last thing you expected to hear tonight- you expected to have a good day with him, to kiss him goodbye and to come home and slip between your empty sheets, wishing that you could still have his warm, naked body next to yours. But his words are rolling around your head like a cannonball.

He loves you… he loves you. How could he love you? It's only been a few months, and it's really only been sex. Okay, you've gone out to movies and to dinner and for walks in the park more than a few times. He's held your hand when he's been sure that the two of you weren't being watched, opened the door for you, paid for your meals and your movie tickets despite your protests. You've snuggled close to his warm body after a long, hard day and you've made love to him like he's the only man in the world that's ever really mattered to you…

But that doesn't give him the right to fall in love with you. Does it?

A sigh expels from your lips and you rake your fingers through your hair. After finishing off your glass of wine, you think about pouring another, but the desire to drink has faded already and you just want to sleep. Between your legs and the muscles of your thighs are still aching from your activities with Elliot earlier this afternoon.

So you put your glass in the sink, change into a tank top and pair of shorts to sleep in and crawl between the sheets in your bed to get some rest.

/

Elliot is already at his desk working when you enter squad room the next morning. There are heavy bags under his eyes and his shoulders are slumped and you almost feel bad for him because it looks like he got just as little sleep as you did.

"Morning," you greet softly.

"Morning," he answers, eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than they should. You sit down at your desk across from his.

You fill out a full DD-5 before Elliot drags you out to follow up on two leads. The car rides to and from each location are more silent and strained than they've been in months- you sit silently, avoiding his gaze completely, staring out the window instead. Each time he turns towards you and murmurs your name, you ignore him. You're not ready to talk to him. If you could have gotten away with leaving him on his own to track down these leads without looking suspicious, you would have. But here you are, sitting in the passenger seat desperately trying to ignore his attempts to speak to you. Now's not the time. You're not sure if there ever _will_ be a time. And to his credit, he doesn't push you- not yet, at least.

Both of the leads are dead ends, so as noon comes, you find yourself back at your desk, filling out more paperwork as you try to ignore the lingering gazes of your partner. If he keeps looking at you like this, you might have to talk to him. Anyone can see the looks he's been giving you- looks that a cop shouldn't be giving his partner.

Before you get a chance, though, you hear his voice float across the space that you share.

"Come to lunch with me," he requests.

"El-

"Please."

His deep blue irises are boring holes into yours and no matter how much of an uncertainty your future with him is, you have a hard time saying no. Staring into his eyes for the first time in the morning, you notice that they're wide and sparkling and a deep, dark blue, the shade that you've seen many times right after he told you he split with Kathy. He's chewing on his bottom lip and you'll be shocked if he hasn't drawn blood at the rate he's doing it.

You're nodding your head before your mind registers the movement. God damn your weakness for this man… How can you continue to say no to him when he's looking at you like this? _It's just lunch. It'll be fine._ "Okay."

You stand and follow Elliot out of the squad room. A couple of uniformed officers pass you as the two of you fall into step, heading towards the elevator. You watch him stab the button with his thick finger. He turns towards you, glancing down the hall before he steps closer and whispers, "Olivia, I can't take this anymore. Could you just talk to me?"

"Elliot, we're at work," you hiss, head whipping around to make sure that no one is in earshot even though you know that he did the same thing before closing the distance between the two of you.

"I know that. But you think Cragen won't notice something's going on?" he asks. "You can barely look at me."

Just his body so close to yours is making you hot all over. You take a step away from him, dropping your eyes from his. The words come out before you can stop them. "You told me you… El, I just wasn't ready for that."

Elliot sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. "Okay. I'm sorry for dumping that on you. The moment was just… I needed to tell you. I'm not expecting anything back, Liv, I just wanted you to know."

The elevator doors slide open and you step through. "You're not…?"

"I'm not expecting anything from you. I'm really not, Olivia," he says. "I just wanted you to know that someone loves you." His voice drops to a whisper and you have to lean in closer just to hear him. _"I love you."_

He steps closer and slides his hand around the back of your neck. His rough fingers squeeze your skin gently. Goosebumps sprout on your skin. "Please just trust me. Please."

Your eyes must reveal something that your words do not, because one simple look and Elliot is smiling softly. To your surprise, he leans in and presses his lips against yours.

"Elliot! Olivia!"

An arm suddenly stops the elevator doors from closing. Captain Cragen ducks his head into the small space just as Elliot starts to rip his lips away from yours, but it's too little too late. Elliot just kissed you… and your captain saw everything.

* * *

A/N: If you've enjoyed, please leave a comment :)


	2. Darken

A/N: Hey, there, boys and girls. This is coming out so much later than I originally intended, so I apologize for that. I wanted a challenge, and this has definitely given me that. It's kicking my ass.

Thanks to SVUlover13 and PaperFrames for their amazing feedback and suggestions. Without you guys, this chapter wouldn't be here.

* * *

Your world is frozen. Elliot's hands are burning your hips, you can almost hear his heart pound and you know you need to pull away from him. Cragen stands in front of the two of you, but you haven't looked him in the eye and you don't think you'll be able to. He just saw you kissing your partner. Nearly four months of painstaking effort to keep your relationship under wraps and in half a second, it's all for nothing.

Finally, Elliot steps away from you, dropping his hands limply to his sides. Your cheeks burn as you fall against the opposite wall of the elevator. _That didn't just happen. That couldn't have just happened._

Maybe he didn't see. Maybe Elliot pulled away just in time, maybe…

"You two. My office. Now."

Oh, God. It actually did happen.

As soon as the door to the captain's office closes behind the three of you, Elliot speaks, getting ready to defend you just like he always does. "Cap'n…"

"Shut up," the captain says. He walks around the side of his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes flit between you and Elliot. "You know what your evaluations with Hendrix were about last year. You know why I had to consider splitting the two of you up."

You remember those few days all too well. Hendrix had prodded into every intimate detail of your relationship… until she asked you a question that you just couldn't answer.

 _If you had to choose between saving you partner and saving a member of the public, which would you choose?_

You'd been almost as terrified then are you are now. You'd been afraid of losing him, of what your captain would say when Hendrix came back with the results of those assessments. You'd said too much, and now here you are… proving your captain right when he said he wasn't sure it was appropriate for the two of you to work together. _What the fuck had you been thinking?_

"Did I ever tell you the results of those assessments?"

"No, sir," Elliot says.

"The professional recommendation by Hendrix was that you were too close. I went to bat for you because I believed that you could keep your relationship professional. And what do I find?"

"We should have told you," Elliot says. "We just thought-

"I don't give a damn what you thought. How long has this been going on?"

He glances at you and you meet his gaze, and he must realize that your throat is too raw to answer the captain's question because he does it for you. "A few months."

"A few months," Cragen repeats. "And you didn't think that it would be important to tell me? You think that it would be okay for you to stick your tongues down each other's throats in the middle of the precinct?"

"No, sir."

"So give me one good reason why I shouldn't send one or both of you packing."

Your heart skips a beat. There's a fire in the captain's eyes that's making ice bubble in your chest- you've never seen him so angry. You have no idea what to say. Instead, your eyes flick over to your partner as he sits next to you, his muscles tense, his jaw clenched. The ice in your chest spreads when you realize that he's run out of things to say, too.

"That's all the answer I need," Cragen says. "As of now, you two are no longer partners."

"Captain-

"I don't want to hear it, Benson," he shoves himself away from the desk and before you can get another word out, he's yelling into the squad room, "Lake! You're with Benson! Fin, Stabler."

"I'm sorry," Elliot whispers to you just before you stand to meet your new partner. It's the last thing you hear from him all afternoon.

/

"Liv!"

You haven't even looked in Elliot's direction since you left the captain's office six hours ago. Your head has been spinning and it's still hard to concentrate on anything other than that one statement that had changed everything- _as of now, you two are no longer partners._

 _Elliot's not your partner anymore._

He's striding down the hall towards you as you wait in front of the elevator, jacket slung over his shoulder.

"What is it?" When did your voice start sounding so tired?

"We still have to talk," he says as he reaches you. He looks just as exhausted as you feel and for a moment, you almost let yourself feel bad for him. _He's the one that kissed you in the elevator._

"We can't do this anymore, El," you whisper, and immediately drop your gaze. You can't stand the look in his eyes as they bore holes into you. It's happening. The one fear that you've had between the two of you is finally happening, you're losing him. It's not for a couple of weeks for some space away from each other, it's not just for the duration of a case like it has been before. You'll have to watch him leave the squad room and worry about him never coming back. You'll have to put your faith in someone else to keep him safe rather than yourself.

"What do you mean we can't do this?" he rasps and you can almost see the hurt in his eyes even as your gaze is glued to the wall behind him. "You're not really- you can't say that. You can't give up now, Liv. He's already split us up."

 _Already split us up. Already split us up. Already split us up. This isn't happening._

"Goodnight, Elliot," you whisper.

"Liv…"

He reaches for you as you push past him, and you pull away almost violently. The door to the stairwell slams shut behind you.

/

By the time you get out of the shower and pour yourself a glass of wine later that night, you have three missed calls and two voicemails from Elliot. There's been two separate knocks on your door- you know it's him, and each time, you ignore it. You should have figured that as soon as you fled the precinct, he'd follow you home to finish what he'd started in the hallway. You've known him long enough to know all of his moves.

You've also known him long enough to know that a few ignored calls and not answering your door won't stop him. Ten minutes of silence pass and you're just starting to relax, just starting to believe that maybe he did give up, when two more solid raps prove you wrong.

Finally, you throw the door open. " _What,_ Elliot?"

He stands in the threshold, eyes turning wide once he realizes you're in front of him. He pulls back his fist and lets his hand drop to his side. You want to reach out and wring his neck with his rumpled tie. _This is all his fault. He had to go and mess everything up._

"You ran out on me today," Elliot says, like you weren't there or didn't remember your own actions. He works his knuckles over his jaw. "I came to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine."

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he takes a moment to break his gaze with you. Finally, he looks up and speaks softly. "Look, we may not be partners anymore, but-

"Stop." You hold up your hand like it will fend off his words. _Olivia, I love you._ "I can't do this with you anymore. I told myself years ago, after Cassidy, that I wasn't… we… I need my space right now. I just… can't do this with you."

You watch his eyes squint and his brow furrow. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and rasps, "Olivia, don't…"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before you slam the door in his face, creating yet another interrupted conversation between the two of you for the day. Your back collapses against the wood as you suck in a breath, suddenly finding it harder to work air through your lungs. _It has to be this way. It has to._

/

Elliot's back is hunched over a case file and his brow is furrowed as he writes in his slanted scrawl. Every time he shifts in his seat, your breath almost catches in your chest. There's half a sandwich from the deli down the street tossed carelessly on his desk and a can of Coke drips condensation into a puddle next to the picture frame that displays him and the twins.

But you don't see any of this- you're at your new desk, facing away from him. It's only six feet, nearly the same distance that he was across from you, but those few extra inches in another direction makes the two a world apart. You can't look up from your computer screen and see his face smiling back at you, the heel of his palm digging into his cheek. You can't slide the remainder of your lunch to him because you know, despite his trim waist and rare indulgence, he can be a bottomless pit. And you can't scold him for clicking his pens compulsively or tease him for pecking at his keyboard with two fingers rather than learning to type properly even after you've offered to teach him.

You need those moments back. You can't function for a full work day without them.

Finally, your self-discipline wavers and you caution a glance. You see only his back as he works. Sighing, you throw your pen onto the top of your desk, stretching your arms behind your head to loosen your tight muscles. Across from you, Lake sits back and gives you a smile. It's been three days and you just can't get in sync with the guy. He's been nothing but kind to you, taking his split with Fin with a grain of salt, but you can't help but not like him.

"Everything okay?" Lake asks.

"Yeah," you answer.

"I'm gonna grab some lunch, do you want anything?"

"Uh, no thanks," you say with a sigh. You give Lake a tight smile as he stands, grabs his jacket and leaves the squad room.

When you turn back to your computer screen, the cursor is blinking at you, almost patronizing. You can't focus. You feel his eyes on you… the second he looks at you, you know and you wonder if he knows when you look at him, too.

"Liv?"

When you turn, he's staring at you with those eyes and you can't help it when your heart jumps. Stop. Stop. You can't feel that way anymore. If you want to keep him... you can't.

"Yeah?"

"Can you talk to me now?"

He hasn't tried to break you down since you slammed the apartment door in his face the day before yesterday. You know exactly what he's doing- trying to give you some space, letting you cool down. Waiting for you to realize that what you're thinking is a mistake, waiting for you to crawl back to him and tell him that you need him the way he thinks he needs you. It's not gonna happen- it can't happen, not the way he wants it to. He's going to realize that. He's going to realize that all's you two can be is partners, and friends. That's what you're built for. That's what needs to happen.

"There's nothing to talk about," you whisper.

"That's B.S. and you know it." His eyes soften. "Listen, I-

"Elliot, stop…"

His brows furrows and his chin juts the way it always does when he's holding back words. You watch him grind his teeth for a moment, melting beneath his intense gaze. Just as he opens his mouth, Fin shouts from the doorway of the squad room. "Elliot! Cap'n wants us at a scene."

For a long moment, he doesn't move. He continues to stare at you, words on the tip of his tongue. Finally, he gets to his feet and disappears beyond the doors of the squad room. You sigh, raking your fingers through your hair, and turn back towards your work.

Even without the almost oppressive presence of your partner- _ex-partner-_ you still can't get any work done. By the time Fin returns from his scene, alone, you haven't finished a single shred of paperwork. Your eyes are on Fin as he bypasses his new desk and comes to yours, leaning against the edge. He studies you underneath his gaze, but doesn't speak, so finally, you give him a small smile and ask, "Where's Elliot?"

"Got a call in the hospital. One of his kids got into trouble," Fin says. You know immediately what probably happened- it's Dickie. He's already gotten into two fights at school already… You remember the way Elliot's chest had almost puffed out with fatherly pride after he got the first phone call from the school. "You wanna tell me why I got saddled with your hot head partner?"

"No," you whisper. Your eyes drop back to your computer screen, but Fin doesn't move.

"You do know I'm a detective, right?"

"Fin…"

He holds both hands up in surrender. "I know, it's none of my business. Just know I won't hesitate to watch his back. _Or_ bust his ass."

A small, hesitant smile comes across your face. "I'll take him back as soon as I can," you whisper, and it's a promise to not only Fin, but yourself as well.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think in the box below :)

Have a great morning/afternoon/evening.

-Stabson


	3. Out

A/N: Nothing much to say here, besides another thanks to PaperFrames and SVUlover13. Once again, you guys are awesome :)

* * *

When you walk into your bedroom that night, your eyes almost immediately find Elliot's red Marine Corps t-shirt as it sits on the top of your dresser. He'd worn it the last time he spent the night with you at your place- well, worn it until you tore it from his body. It still smells like him- his cologne and a bit of the soap he uses. You slip it over your head and it falls below your waist, nearly to your thighs, before climbing into bed and pulling the blanket over yourself. It's Friday night- the night that, no matter what, you two had always made time for each other.

 _You were tired. Nearly forty-eight hours on the go, chasing a serial rapist, did that to you. Your partner was the same as he sat next to you in the driver's seat of the sedan, shoulders slumped, bags hanging from his half-open eyes. You hated cases like these, cases where people kept getting hurt with no end or promise of rest in sight. The only thing that managed to keep you going was the thought that if you worked hard and long enough, maybe you'd catch the bastard and no more women would get hurt._

 _Well, that, and the man that sat beside you, silently giving you strength when you were sure that you had none left._

 _As the light in front of you turned green, the sedan slowly started to move forward. About a hundred yards after the intersection, Elliot flicked on his right turn signal and pulled into a parking lot, nearly empty at this time of night- well, early morning, really. One glance at the clock told you that it was nearing three o'clock in the morning._

 _"El?" you rasped. "What're you doing, we have to go-_

 _He stopped you with a hand on your cheek and leaned forward across the center console. His lips touched yours before you could get a chance to stop him. You melted into his kiss almost immediately. It's been too long since you felt his lips on yours..._

 _"It's Friday," he rumbled, pulling his lips just far enough away from yours to say the words. And then they were back together again. His hand ran down your cheek, over your shoulder and he intertwined his fingers with yours. It was Friday, and if this case kept going on like it was, you wouldn't get a single solitary moment with him._

 _So you took what you could get- ten minutes, bodies pressed as close as the car would allow, lips together in the darkness that surrounded you. His kiss was slow, closed-mouthed and gentle as his hands ran gently over your back, then through your hair, nails raking lightly along the back of your skull. His touch managed to melt away some of the tension in your muscles, and by the time he pulled away with a shaking sigh, you felt like closing your eyes and taking a nap more than ever before. As his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, you wanted to join him… to just relax against his warm body… but if you did, you'd surely fall asleep and sleep was the last on your long list of things to do for this case._

 _"When this is over..." he murmured, cracking his eyes open slowly._

 _You nodded. "When it's over."_

 _Your head fell back against the headrest as Elliot put the car in drive and pulled out._

Tonight, you're alone. The warm body that had taken up residence on the other side of your bed is gone.

You don't miss him. You don't need him... you don't.

You can't.

You roll onto your side, curling up tighter with your blanket. You can almost feel his warm arms wrapping around you from behind, like he did after that long, dreaded case just before you both drifted off to a fitful sleep... he was always so warm and strong and...

 _Stop._

It's better off this way. As soon as Cragen sees that you're nothing more than partners, you'll be back sitting across from him. You'll be watching his back and he'll be watching yours, just like it's meant to be. And if Elliot doesn't go back to his wife (you'll be shocked if he doesn't), he'll find another nice girl whose eyes aren't hazed over with all of the horrors of the world. That's what he deserves... a nice girl, an innocent girl, a girl like Kathy who doesn't have skeletons in her closet like you do. A girl who can give her whole, unbroken heart to him, who can make love to him sweetly, the way someone who hasn't seen the battered bodies of rape victims can.

A fire forms in the pit of your belly and your eyes prickle, but you refuse to let the tears break free.

This is always the way it was meant to be. You knew that the two of you weren't meant to last. But how will you ever let him go?

/

The next morning, he doesn't even look at you. He's hunched over his desk, staring at something on his computer screen. You need to hear his voice say your name, feel his fingers on your skin, smell his subtle cologne. You need to sit across from him, watch him stretch his feet over the top of his desk and toss the stress ball he keeps in his top drawer from one hand to the other. But you can't do any of those things. So instead, you drop your bag onto the floor next to your desk, sit down, and reach over to turn your computer on.

Lake arrives about ten minutes after you do. He drapes his jacket over the back of his chair, tells you good morning with a smile and sits. You mumble your own good morning and get to work.

It's a long, long day. You follow up on two leads and go to a crime scene in the late afternoon, but other than that, you're stuck at your desk, sifting through financial records on one of your cases, writing up a five on one of the cases you and Elliot closed several days ago and trying to piece together the night of a rape victim you spoke with yesterday.

Around four thirty, just when you're starting to think of shutting down your computer and heading home, Casey's voice calls you from behind. "Hey, Olivia."

"Casey, what's up?"

"I was just driving by and I need the paperwork on the Mendez case for trial prep tomorrow. Do you have it?"

"Over here." Elliot cuts in, raising his right hand, pen resting loosely in his grip. "I've got it."

You watch as Casey's eyes turn from you, to Elliot, then back to you, brow furrowed, look of confusion on her face. You know why. She hasn't been in the squad room since…

"Great. I'll take it."

Your eyes move downward once again as Casey moves from your desk to his.

"Sure," Elliot says. "First, you wanna grab a bite? I was just about to head out."

"Yeah, sure." There's pleasant surprise in her tone. Your eyes flicker up to her once again and she's sharing a smile with Elliot. They're standing close, her hand is resting lightly on his shoulder. Flames leap up in your stomach and you have to swallow the lump in your throat.

She pats Elliot's arm gently, smiles, and turns from him. Your eyes remain on your ex-partner as he straightens and tightens his tie, unrolls his sleeves and reaches for his jacket. He doesn't even look your way as he walks out of the squad room.

 _"What do you think, burgers or Italian?" Elliot asked, sliding into the driver's seat of the Jeep. "Or something else?"_

 _"It's been a while since I had a juicy burger," you said._

 _Your heart jumped as a smile spread across his handsome, freshly shaven face. "P &G's it is." _

Is he gonna take her to the same place he took you? Tell her all about how he's been coming to this place for almost twenty years? Hold the door open like he did for you, grab the bill from her like he did from you, give her a playful scowl like he's insulted she would even try to pay her half?

The image of them standing close together is burned into your head as you try your best to work. But for an hour and a half, you get next to nothing done.

It's almost seven and you're just starting to pack up when Fin's voice breaks the near silence that's filled the squad room for the better part of an hour. "I thought you left."

Your head snaps up and your eyes catch your ex-partner near the doorway. He strides across the room and plops down into his chair, sifting through the stacks of files on his desk.

"Yeah, I had to come back," he grumbles, abandoning the top of his desk to search through his drawers. "I meant to grab the Mendez file on the way out. There it is."

He disappears, and you wait a good thirty seconds before following him out the door, intent to get home and change into something comfortable, but his back quickly comes into view once more as he stands against the wall near the elevator with Casey. The file he grabbed is tucked away in her bag as they speak softly. You can't make out what they're saying, and you force yourself not to care.

Until you see his arm wrap around her middle. The distance between them closes and Casey's slender arm returns his embrace. They're together for an eternity- standing there, holding each other, bodies nearly pressed together. And you're rooted in your spot, your world crumbling and burning at the same time, eyes prickling, fire burning in the pit of your stomach. You blink and tell yourself to breathe but watching them, confirming the worry you've had in your head since they left the squad together, you almost can't. You're actually losing him now- not to the nice girl that you'd envisioned, not to his wife… to a friend. _To your friend._

You shouldn't be surprised. Really, you shouldn't- the young, beautiful prosecutor, the handsome, veteran detective? All the time they've spent together… cases, prepping testimony, alone in her office. You should have figured.

Finally, they break apart and Casey heads for the elevator. Elliot remains standing against the wall, reaching into his pocket for his phone. The small, content smile on his face is what completely breaks you.

"Just going through all the women in the office now, huh?" The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. You're horrified by your own statement for a moment, but find yourself nodding your head slightly to emphasize the point.

"Excuse me?" The smile quickly disappears from his face as he drops his hand. His brow furrows as he stares at you. "That was a joke, right? You can't be serious."

"That's what it looks like."

"That's what it looks like, huh?" he asks, his voice irritatingly even. His eyes are slowly beginning to smolder as he holds you under his intense gaze. Finally, he says, "You know what it looks like to me? Looks like you're jealous of Casey."

 _You are_ ** _not_** _jealous. You are_ ** _not._** "I'm pretty sure Cragen would appreciate you screwing our ADA. That's gotta be a conflict of interest, too, no?"

His eyes squint, lips purse and shoulders stiffen, just like they always do when his anger is slowly starting to build. "You _are_ jealous. I'm here waiting for you to stop running and you're worried about sleeping with our _friend_. That's bull, Olivia."

"I just call it like I see it, _Elliot._ " His name feels like venom as it leaves your mouth. "Go ahead, make up for those twenty years of monogamy. Who's next up, Camille from Computer Crimes?"

The vein on his forehead looks like it's going to pop right out of his skin. His eyes twitch and you're almost afraid of him for a moment- almost. He looks just as irritated, just as angry as you feel and for some reason, you feel a sick sense of payback.

"You know something, maybe," he hisses. "Guarantee I could get Camille to at least _talk_ to me."

"You want to talk to me? Okay, let's talk. If you hadn't kissed me in the elevator, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"No, you'd still be avoiding me like the plague. Or maybe back in Computer Crimes, or with the Feds, or whatever other excuse you can come up with to split us up!" His chest his heaving and his cheeks are slowly tinting red. You know him. You know he's about to blow. "If you didn't have ice in your chest, I wouldn't have had to chase you down and _beg_ you for a discussion."

You know exactly what to say to set him off. "I don't want to talk to you because _I don't love you._ "

A deafening silence overcomes the two of you. You stare at his face as hurt turns turns back to bubbling rage in an instant. "And you wonder why you're still alone? This is exactly why, Olivia. You don't even have the balls to admit your feelings."

"Screw you!"

"You already did a few times over, sweetheart!" he hisses and you recoil in shock, taking a step back. You've never in your life wanted to hit him as much as you do right now. How dare he. How fucking dare he?

Your next words come out of your mouth before you can stop them- before you can assess their acidity. "Go to hell, you asshole. No wonder Kathy left you."

You watch as his face turns even more red. You don't think you've ever seen him so angry in the entire nine years that you've known him and a wince almost makes it onto your face as he opens his mouth. Before he gets a chance to answer, Cragen's booming voice drowns him out. _"That's enough!"_

You almost jump at the sheer volume of your captain. He's pushing his way between the two of you, holding a hand on Elliot's chest like he might shove the captain aside and give you a piece of his mind. You wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"If I have to talk to either of you again, you'll both be out of here." His voice has instantly turned calm and it's more terrifying than when he yelled. He turns his head from your ex-partner to you, tight-lipped frown on his face and sincerity in his eyes. "This is a police station, not a high school. Handle it, or I will."

"Elliot." You watch as Fin's hand grasps Elliot's shoulder. "C'mon, man."

As soon as they disappear down the hall, your knees go weak. _No wonder Kathy left you. No wonder Kathy left you. No wonder Kathy left you._

What have you done?

"Liv?" Munch asks softly. His gentle hand comes down your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm going home." Your throat is so raw that even those three words hurt to say.

/

The entire ride home, you're numb.

 _He took her out to dinner. He hugged her. He was happy with her._

 _And you said horrible things to him._

The numbness suddenly turns to guilt. Why are you the one feeling so damn guilty? He's the one that said…

He's the one that tried to defend himself after you essentially called him a sleaze ball. He's the one that got angry when you baited him. What else were you expecting?

You pick up your phone and scroll through your contacts to find his name… _El._ You should call him. Things got out of hand… both you and he said things that shouldn't have been said.

Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you set the phone down with a shaking hand. You can't. You can't hear his voice right now, you can't talk to him. _He's an asshole. This is his fault._

Instead, you start a warm bath and get out a bottle of wine, hoping that somehow, it alleviates the knot of dread in your stomach.

/

You awake to the shrill ring of your cellphone. A thick cloud of fatigue fills your head as your hand fumbles around on the nightstand. With a sigh, you roll onto your back and stab the green button with your finger. "Benson."

"Olivia."

It's Cragen. Shoving yourself upright in the bed, you prepare yourself for the address of a crime scene and a long, exhausting morning. You're not prepared for another case right now. Can't they call Fin or your ex-partner instead?

"What's the address?"

"There's no case," the captain says. You hear him take a deep breath over the phone and as you slowly begin to wake up, you recognize something in his tone that you hadn't before. Something happened. "Then what's going on?"

You roll out of bed, reaching for some clothes as you press the phone to your ear. Your fingers close around the slacks that you wore yesterday and you slide them up your legs, balancing the phone on your shoulder. It's taking too long for him to answer. Why is it taking so long?

"You should get down to Mercy," the captain tells you finally.

Blood instantly begins to roar in your ears. You stand quickly to fasten the button on your slacks, phone tucked between your shoulder and cheek, but your hands are shaking too badly. "Who's hurt?"

More silence.

You swallow hard. Dread eats away at the pit in your stomach as the world slowly starts to spin around you. "Captain. Who's hurt?"

"It's Elliot."

 _Screw you._

 _Already did, sweetheart._

Your hand stops moving on the button. You sink onto the mattress of your bed, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"It's serious, Olivia," the captain rasps. "You really should get down here."

The tone of his voice makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You've heard that tone before many times, not from your captain, from the fathers of the victims you've spoken to. The fathers of the victims who have d-

No. No chance. He'll be at work pissing you off again. You're sure of it.

"Olivia?"

"I'm coming," you whisper. "I'll be there."

* * *

A/N: Please let me know what you think!

Have a great morning/afternoon/evening.

-Stabson


	4. Gone

A/N: Would just like to thank everyone for their amazing feedback on the last chapter. I meant to get this up sooner, but unfortunately life and writer's block got in the way. But here it is, Chapter 4 of Blackout! Enjoy.

* * *

As you stride down the hallway, heart in your throat, eyes already prickling with something you refuse to call tears, Fin and the captain come into view, both standing against the wall, shoulders slumped, clothing rumpled. _It's serious, Olivia. It's serious._ You pass a family huddling together and run towards the two of them. There's blood covering the sleeve of Fin's jacket- Elliot's blood. The picture of Elliot laying on the ground, slowly bleeding out as Fin tries to keep him alive, burns into your mind and you nearly miss a step. _Stop, stop, stop._

It could be nothing. That's what all of his other injuries have been- busted ribs, gunshot wound in the elbow, concussions. None of them have been fatal. This one is going to be no different. He's going to look at you with fire in his eyes and ask you what the hell your problem was during your argument in the squad room in no time. You're going to call him an asshole and storm out, relieved to find him okay. That's it. That's all.

 _It's serious, Olivia._

Cragen squeezes Fin's shoulder and approaches you. The wrinkles surrounding the corners of his mouth look deeper and heavier than you've ever seen them and his brow is furrowed and your knees instantly go weak. Water pools in the old captain's eyes- why is there water there? Why are his eyes bloodshot, why does he look closer to crying than you've ever seen him before?

"What happened?" You don't even recognize the sound of your own voice as it squeaks past your lips.

The captain takes your arm and guides you the short distance to a quiet spot against the wall. His hand remains on your shoulder as he takes a deep breath and says, "He was shot."

He's been shot before. The last time he was shot, it was in the arm- he'd asked to go home almost immediately. You sat at his bedside, snuck him food he shouldn't have been eating, brought him copies of the Ledger because you knew he hated daytime television and flipping through the newspaper was about the only thing that kept him sane.

"Where?" you whisper.

"It was a small caliber. Just a .22. And it was long distance." Cragen's hand is squeezing your shoulder. Your hands ache to reach out and shake him, just to get a straight answer out of him. _Why won't he just tell you?_

 _"Where?"_

He chews on his lip for a moment, staring at you with his soft eyes. The tears fill his eyes nearly to the brim now, forcing more nausea to rise in the pit of your stomach. You're going to be sick. You're actually going to be sick if he doesn't just fucking _tell you._ But finally, his mouth opens, and he croaks out an answer, the first time his voice loses it's pseudo calmness since you got his phone call. "In the head."

Your legs instantly give out from underneath you. You collapse into the captain's waiting arms, air locked from your lungs. You're going to be sick. The world is spinning around you and you can't breathe and your chest hurts. You're not going to walk into his hospital room and see him sitting in a bed, arm wrapped in a sling or chest bandaged. He's not going to call you out for the horrible things you said to him the last time you were face to face. You're not going to call him asshole, relieved to see him alive and mostly well.

He's not coming back. The next time you'll see him, he'll be in a coffin.

 _"No."_

Tears sting your eyes. Bile rises in your throat as you slam your eyelids shut, struggling and failing to get air pumping through your lungs. Oh, God. You can't breathe. Your muscles lock in place as the world tilts around you, and you're dangerously close to falling backwards into nothing.

 _He's gone._

"Liv... Olivia!"

 _Shot through the head. The head._ A strangled sob finally makes it past your lips. You reach for the arms of the chair- _when did you sit down?_ \- as if your grip on them will keep a grip on the storm inside. But it doesn't. Each attempt for a breath dies before it reaches your throat and your lungs need oxygen but you can't get it.

 _In the god damned head._

"Hey. I know what you're thinking, just stop for a minute." Cragen's hands have a strong grip on your shoulders as he crouches in front of you. "He's still alive, Liv. He was still breathing when they brought him in, there's still a chance. You hear me? There's a chance."

 _He's still breathing. There's still a chance._

 ** _What chance?_** Every time you've heard of someone shot in the head…

Fin sidles up to you and Cragen. Your eyes are glued to the blood that seeps into the material of his jacket... You just want to rip it off his shoulders. You can't stand seeing Elliot's blood on him. The blood from his head. _His fucking_ ** _head_** _._

 _"_ I'm sorry, Liv," he says. "I tried, everything happened so fast."

"The perp," you whisper. "What happened…"

"Bastard's in the morgue. I fired a second after he did."

You nod, only mildly horrified by the sense of relief that you feel. _Serves him right._

You lean back against the wall, closing your heavy eyelids. Through the head... Through the damn _head_. Your breath hitches and you bring your hand to your mouth, chest shaking. They're working on him right now... the doctors are digging around his head, trying to get the bullet out. Who knows what kind of damage it's done?

It's only a matter of time before you lose him. One of the doctors will come out, body heavy with defeat, and give you the news. _I'm so sorry. He didn't make it._ And you'll walk into that room, cleaned up from the hours of rushed, desperate surgery, to see his body, completely still, covered with a sheet, face pale, skin slowly beginning to cool. His eyes will be closed and he'll look peaceful, just like he's sleeping… but you'll know. His chest won't rise and fall evenly. His breath won't hitch every few minutes just like you know it does when he sleeps. And his eyes won't flutter open with a simple touch to his chest or shoulder. You'll sit beside him and the tears will win out… you'll forget all the horrible things you've said to one another, you'll forget that all you could have been was partners, you'll forget about slamming doors in his face and avoiding him- _avoiding him like the plague._ All you'll remember is how good it felt to be in his arms… how amazing your lovemaking had been… how he made you feel so complete.

And, despite how much you know that all you could have been was partners, the knowledge that you'll never be able to be with him the way your heart desperately needs to will break you.

Cragen sets a hand on your shoulder. Your eyes shoot up to his face as he stands in front of you. "It's gonna be a long wait," he says gently. "Let me get you a cup of coffee."

A long wait... You feel sick. Your stomach hurts. Your head spins. You can't sit in this chair anymore, but you legs are locked in place and you can't move. Each moment could bring his last breath with it. He's probably bleeding slowly from the foreign metal that fired through the perp's gun, broke through his skin, cracked through his skull…

Your hand instantly covers your mouth as you nearly vomit.

You're going to have to be stronger than this. Any second, the doctor could come out and confirm your greatest fear, the only ending this could possibly have, and you'll have to see his body for real. You'll have to see the shell of him… all of the spirit gone from him.

You're almost surprised when Cragen reappears in front of your chair and holds out a paper cup filled with piping hot coffee to you. For a moment, you're almost not sure what to do with it, but your hands mechanically stretch out to take it, and you hold it between both your palms. You don't want to drink it. You don't want to be awake and think about what's happening to your partner just a short distance away.

What's he thinking about? Does he know that he's dying? Is his life flashing before his eyes? Or has his brain completely shut down, just like the rest of his body soon will?

Maybe he thinks he's just asleep. Maybe the bullet hit his brain just right so that he has absolutely no idea what's going on and what will happen to him. Not that he'd be afraid of it, anyway. He's never afraid- not like you've been. Even standing in a warehouse with a gun digging into his cheek and the promise of impending death, he'd been stronger than you.

That's probably only wishful thinking. He probably knows exactly what's happening. He's probably fighting for his life, trying not to give in to the darkness that's swallowing him. He's thinking about his kids. About holding them, taking care of them, seeing them grow up, move out, live lives of their own. He's wondering who will care for them when he goes. And he's thinking about his wife- his ex-wife. The only woman that he ever _really_ loved and the one that he's been with since he was a kid.

Air catches in your lungs. You're suffocating. You need to get out. Each time a doctor steps through the double doors with a clipboard in hand, your heart leaps into your throat and you're sure that it's for Elliot. Each time, it's not.

Cragen sits beside you and Fin stands against the opposite wall, arms crossed, staring at the tiled floor. All three of you are silent- the only noise that occasionally breaks it is the ringing of Cragen's cellphone. Each time, he steps away, quietly tells whoever is on the other end to 'handle it,' and sits back down. The clock against the wall is barely moving- it can't _still_ be before two.

It's past five o'clock in the morning when another doctor steps through the doors, shoulders slumped, clipboard hanging loosely by her side. Her dark, straight hair is pulled back into a messy bun, scrubs rumpled and messy. You jump to your feet, heart pounding in your throat as you watch her slowly make her way towards you. "Olivia Benson? For Detective Stabler."

"Yes?" you ask breathlessly. Cragen stands next to you, grasping your arm lightly. Here it comes… the moment you've been dreading all night. The moment you've had nightmares about ever since that day in the warehouse when you almost pulled the trigger of your gun and ended his life yourself. Why did you want a doctor for him to come out so desperately? You'd give anything for just one more second of ignorance before this moment… the moment that will break you forever.

"I'm Doctor Lima," she says. "I'm one of the doctors that worked on Detective Stabler."

"What's the damage?" Cragen asks, because you can't work a single word past your lips. You're waiting for those two sentences… _I'm so sorry. He didn't make it._

But they don't come. Instead, very different words come from the young doctor's lips.

"We were able to extract the bullet, but some very severe damage was done. He scored a four on the Glasgow Coma Scale… which means that he's currently in a coma. Unfortunately… there's a very small chance that he'll wake up." The world freezes around you. Your knees weaken once more and you almost need Cragen to hold you up again. Coma. He's in a coma, not gone… not yet. _There's a very small chance he'll wake up. "_ The bullet made impact…" Her words become nothing more than a jumbled mess of sounds as you stand next to Cragen, desperately needing to lean on him. You can barely stand on your own. "... frontal lobe…" _He's laying in a bed, a shell of himself. Trapped in limbo between life and death._ "... severe brain damage."

"What's the chance?" Cragen asks as your attention snaps back to the present. _Focus. This is important._ "Put a number on it."

"Gunshot injuries to the brain like the one Detective Stabler suffered are almost always fatal. But the paramedics told me that he and Detective Tutuola," Doctor Lima nods slowly towards Fin, "was speaking to him right after the shooting."

"S right," Fin answers.

"Well, that's a good sign. Patient who are awake and cognizant of their surroundings are more likely to recover. I'm so sorry… I wish I had better news for you. But right now, that's what we know."

"Can we see him?"

"Absolutely. Right this way."

He's in a private room. As soon as you step over the threshold, you have to choke back a sob. There's a white bandage taped to the side of his head and a tube in the corner of his mouth. His eyes are closed, body still, his arms rest uselessly by his side over the blanket that covers his lower half and various other tubes and wires wind around his body to machines surrounding his bed.

Tears blur your vision. You sink down into the chair next to him and reach for his hand with your two shaking ones. This isn't the man you've kissed, made love to, woken up in bed with. He isn't your partner, the one you've worked cases with, had lunch with, crammed into the sedan with for hours and hours during stakeouts. He's a shell. A body that needs a machine to breathe for him- oh, God.

Acid burns your throat as you jump to your feet and stumble to the trashcan in the corner of the room. You barely make it before your stomach empties itself. Your eyes sting, your throat stings- tears blur your vision as you fall backwards onto the cold tile floor. _You can't do this. You can't sit here and see him like this._

But you don't even have the strength to move.

"Liv." Cragen's kneeling in front of you, and if your vision wasn't still blurred, you'd be able to see the tears that break free from the old captain's eyes. He wraps your arm around him and lifts you off of the floor gently. "C'mon."

"I can't. I can't," you mumble.

"I know."

And he guides you back out of the room- the room that will hold the death of the one man that had meant everything to you.

* * *

A/N: ... Please don't hurt me.

Also, please review!

Have a great morning/afternoon/evening.

-Stabson


	5. Struggle

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter, and special thanks to Mari, Darla and svulover13.

Enjoy :)

* * *

 _When you answered the door, Elliot stood on the other side, dressed in a pair of dark washed jeans, a gray polo shirt and his black leather jacket. A small smile twitched across your face as his eyes met yours. "Hey."_

" _Hey," you answered._

" _I just dropped the twins off with Kathy," he said, shifting from one foot to the other. "Didn't feel like going back to the apartment. I was wondering if…" he trailed off, gazing beyond you into your apartment._

 _You smiled, stepping aside to let him in. "C'mon in."_

" _Actually," he said, his eyes focusing back on you. "I was thinking I'd take you out."_

" _Out?"_

" _Yeah. Well," he shrugged, "unless you've got something better to do."_

 _You hadn't planned on leaving the apartment that afternoon. In fact, after a long week, you were looking forward to having an early night and catching up on the sleep you hadn't gotten. But looking at him, standing on your doorstep with hope in his eyes, you couldn't say no. "Let me get my shoes."_

You're not even sure what you're doing here. You've never been religious, you've never even gone to church. But after fleeing Elliot's room, the chapel is the only place that you feel close to him. So you sit in a pew near the back, tears slowly streaming down your cheeks, breath hitching as each sob makes its way up your throat.

" _Gunshot injuries to the brain like the one Detective Stabler suffered are almost always fatal."_

"Thought I'd find you here." Cragen's voice booms over the silence of the room, but you're too numb to feel the surprise of your solitude breaking. The echo of his footsteps bounces around you as he moves slowly down the center aisle.

"I'm not even religious," you say softly as he sits down. He folds his hands over the back of the bench in front of you and takes a deep breath, staring up at the crucifix on the wall.

"I know. But if it were him, this is where he'd come." He turns to you, examining your face. You meet his eyes, but you have to turn away almost immediately. The wide, wet brown eyes that look identical to the fathers you've had to notify nearly break you in half. Finally, Cragen says softly, "I spoke with his doctor. She said there's no way to tell whether or not he can hear you, but there's a good chance that he can. I bet he'd like to hear your voice right now."

You scoff. "After the way we fought? The things I said to him? I don't think so."

" _If you didn't have a chest full of ice..."_

" _...don't even have the balls to admit your feelings..."_

"Well, you've got two options here, Olivia," Cragen says. "You can go in there and be there for him. Or you can leave him to die alone, thinking you hate him. We both know that's not true."

Suddenly, you can't breathe again. No, it's not true. No matter how much you go through, no matter what you two say to each other, you could never hate him. Never.

But can you go back into that room and see him pale, still, dying slowly?

 _He took you to Atlas Park. "What are we, teenagers?" you teased him as he opened the car door for you._

 _Elliot shrugged. "I can always take you back home, if you're not interested."_

 _You said nothing. Truth be told, you couldn't remember the last time a man took you out with no expectations- for another date, for a kiss, for an invitation back to your apartment for moments of release followed by hours of ashamed regret. With him, even walking through a mall like a couple of awkward teenagers on their first date was special, a memory that you treasured._

 _Your strides perfectly matched, just as they always did, as you and he walked down the corridor,_

" _How 'bout a movie?" Elliot asked as you passed the theater._

" _Sure."_

 _You let him pick, and he chose the only horror flick on the board. You nearly rolled your eyes- even with the horrors he saw on a daily basis, he had room for more? But you didn't protest. You got to spend time with him, that's what mattered. He ordered two tickets and you reached for your wallet._

" _What do you think you're doing?" he asked, shoving your hand away just as you were about to lay a ten dollar bill down on the counter._

" _Uh, paying for my ticket?"_

" _Put your money away." He handed the skinny teenager behind the counter a twenty. "I invited you out."_

 _On the way into the theater, you tried twice to shove the bill into his jacket pocket. You hated when people paid for you. Coffee, lunches or dinners with him were different; you could always pay him back in trade. But that night, if he paid, it was different. It wasn't just a friendly outing… it was a date. You weren't sure if you were ready for that yet. But each time you tried to slip the money into his pocket, he snatched himself away. "I'm gonna cuff you if you don't stop. It's one movie ticket, lemme treat you, damn it."_

 _You shoved the bill into your pocket just as he chose a row near the back, far away from the people already seated in the theater. You would find another day. He wasn't escaping without getting repaid._

The moment you step back through the door into his room, you feel sick to your stomach again. Swallowing, you cross the room and sit down beside his bed. Your eyes trail from his forehead, over his bruised eyelids, his jawbone, to the thin gown that covers his chest.

"Hey, El," you rasp softly. You can almost hear him answer you- like in the mornings when you arrive at work, sometimes tired and bleary from a long night, other times energetic and ready to start the day. " _Hey, Liv."_

" _You asshole. No wonder Kathy left you."_

You swallow hard, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "I came back to apologize." Your breath hitches in your throat. "I-I'm sorry for everything I said to you. I didn't mean it, I just… I wanted to hurt you, after…"

You can see Casey's long, slender arms wrap around his middle once again. He's holding her close, like he held you… oh, God.

 _You regretted letting him choose the horror film about halfway through, just when things started to get bloody. It was the worst kind of horror film- the kind about a serial killer, the kind that could very well be true._

 _Elliot noticed your discomfort quickly. Before you could process what he was doing, his fingers were laced with yours on the armrest you shared with him. Your eyes immediately flickered around the room, scared of who might be watching, but it was pitch black and the intimate gesture went hidden in the darkness._

You hear the gasp of a familiar voice, and when you turn, his ex-wife stands at the doorway, hand covering her mouth, eyes wide. She slowly crosses the room, closing the distance between her in the bed, hand falling from her mouth.  
"Elliot," Kathy whispers, shoulders beginning to shake. She sinks down beside him, reaching for his free hand, holding it close to her chest. You instantly drop your gaze and try to slip out of the room to give her some privacy, but her voice stops you. "Olivia… how did this happen?"  
"I don't know," you say, frozen in place as an icy knife pierces your heart. Why couldn't you have been there for him? Tears stream down her face and it's making your own eyes prickle. You can't handle this right now. You can't stand here and watch his ex-wife break down in front of you. "I… wasn't with him."

"His doctor told me…" she trails off, trying and failing to even her breath. "Oh, God."  
"He's gonna be okay, Kathy," you find yourself whispering. "You know him. He's not going to stop fighting."  
"What am I gonna tell the kids?" she whispers, wiping at her tears. "How am I gonna tell them…?"  
"I could talk to them." The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. You instantly regret it. You can hardly stomach thinking about his injuries, how can you be expected to sit down in front of the people he loves the most in this world and break their hearts?  
"No," Kathy says, scrubbing her hand lightly down her face. "It's okay. Thank you, Liv."  
Thank you for what? Not being there for her husband when he needed you the most? Breaking his heart right before he loses everything forever?

" _I can't believe you dragged me in to see that," you said, sliding into the passenger seat as Elliot held the door open for you._

" _Oh, it wasn't bad," he answered before rounding the front of the car._

" _Wasn't bad? I saw more blood in that one scene in the train car than we see in a week at crime scenes."_

 _Elliot started the car and turned towards you, the ghost of a smile on his face. "Alright, 'Livia, I'm sorry the movie scared you. Next time, I'll pick something nicer, okay?"_

" _Oh, screw you," you said, unable to hide your own smile as it tugged at your lips. You almost slapped him for the teasingly patronizing tone his voice had adopted._

" _Maybe later." He chuckled, and backed out of the parking spot._

 _Before he even stopped in front of your apartment, you were asking him if he wanted to come up. He nodded, murmured a 'yes,' and pulled into one of the spots close to the front door of your building._

 _You offered him a cup of coffee. He took off his jacket, slung it over the back of the chair at the breakfast bar and shook his head, eyes quickly meeting yours. Before you knew it, his body was against yours and your skin was scraping against his as his tongue slipped into your mouth. And nothing mattered besides him. Nothing surrounded you except his skin on top and the mattress below. He kissed his way down your body and threw your legs over his shoulders, lowering his mouth to your center. Within minutes, he brought you over the edge, spiraling into oblivion._

 _While you laid, open and lax on your back under him, he slipped between your legs and kissed you gently, coaxing you out of your state of bliss, back to him. Slowly, your legs wrapped around him, bringing him closer to you._

 _He easily slipped into you. Like two puzzle pieces snapping together, your bodies pressed against one another, each crevice of one filled by the other, damp skin sticking as you moved against each other. You moaned. Loudly. And he rocked into you, his groans harmonizing with yours._

 _You climaxed once again just as he did. Once it was over, he fell beside you, breathing heavily, pulling you close. And, though you tried to stay awake, you drifted off to sleep right with him._

Kathy calls Maureen. She leaves you alone with Elliot once his children arrive, just long enough to explain to them what's happened, and you sit in the corner of the room as they file in slowly, tears already moistening their eyes. Maureen is first- his oldest. The first he bought a prom dress for, the first he chased boys away from.  
Kathleen is next, and his two oldest girls stand beside him, their tears falling freely down their faces, soft sobs echoing through the small room. When his twins step through the doorway, they're clinging to each other, cheeks already wet and sparkling. Kathy pulls them close and they huddle together, a family mourning the loss of their father. Somehow, staring at them makes you feel even more alone- the man that's always been there to comfort you is the one laying in bed.

"Liv," Lizzie murmurs. Even from behind her glasses you can see her blue eyes overflowing with tears as they stream down her blotchy red cheeks. Her free arm, the one that's not wrapped around her twin, extends slowly towards you.  
Your feet carry you to the mob of Stablers, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe you won't have to deal with the alone… Not right now at least.

Just as you're about to reach them, Kathleen pulls away and stares at you, fire roaring in her bloodshot, tearful eyes. "Where were you?" she whispers.  
"Kathleen…" Kathy warns.  
"When he was… where were you?" she asks. When he was laying on the concrete, bleeding, dying, where were you? She wipes furiously at her tears, stepping between you and her father. "You have to go."

"Kathleen, stop it!" Kathy admonishes.

But she's right. What right do you have sitting here with him, mourning him with his family when you couldn't do a damn thing to help? When having sex with him was more important than being a good partner- than watching his back? Another sob burns in the back of your throat, but you swallow it. You won't cry in front of his kids. You can't.

"No, it's fine," you whisper, stepping away from Lizzie. "You should spend time as a family."

You can't get out of the room fast enough. It should have been you there with him- there to draw the gunman's fire, to be shot, to be laying in that bed dying. He's got kids. People he needs, people who will mourn the loss of him. You have no one… no one except him. And now you don't even have that.

"Liv!" You turn quickly towards the sound of the voice and see his youngest daughter chasing you down the hall.

"Lizzie," you say.

"Kathleen shouldn't have said that," she says breathlessly. "She was upset- she didn't mean it."

"It's okay," you say. "You should go back in with your dad…"

"He can't be hurt like this," she blurts out, interrupting you. Her chest is shaking and more tears are streaming down her cheeks. She's trying to hold her breath, to keep from crying again, but it's a failing battle and you can tell. God… he always tried to protect his kids. He never wanted them to feel any pain, he would have done anything to take it away, he told you. But now here they are and he can't help them and you can't think of a single thing to do or say to do it, either. "He has to be okay… H-he...My play is next week. He said he'd be in the front row," Her eyes- _his eyes-_ stare into you. "He promised. He's never broken a promise before."

He's never broken a promise to you, either.

Well, maybe there was one.

 _I'm your partner. For better or worse._

Lizzie sobs. She falls against you, buckets of her tears seeping through your thin cotton shirt. "I want my Dad."

 _You want your partner. Need your partner._

"I know, Liz," you rasp, your fingers tracing through her hair softly. You blink and more of your own tears break away. "The doctor said that he can still hear you. So why don't you go back in there and tell him about your week?"

Lizzie nods. She takes off her glasses and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, stepping away slowly. "Thanks, Liv. Will you, um…" She swallows, replacing her glasses. "If Dad isn't awake yet… Come to my play?"

"Of course," you whisper, running your hands over her thin shoulders. It's the least you can do. It's one thing that maybe, just maybe will help, will make up at least a little for you being unable to be there the time that he needed you the most. You nod back towards the door. "Go ahead."

"Aren't you coming back in?"

You want to- you should. But you can't. "No. You guys should spend some time together. I've gotta get some work done."

Lizzie looks reluctant for a moment, but finally she nods. "Okay. Thank you, Liv." She turns and disappears beyond the doorway of his room.

You take a deep breath, wipe one final tear from the corner of your eye and head for the elevator.

 _Elliot got to work later than you. As soon as he arrived, he walked up next to your desk and set down a piece of white notepad paper and your crumpled ten dollar bill. You couldn't help but smirk as your own handwriting stared back at you._

 _ **A tip for excellent services.**_

 _ **xx Liv**_

" _So, I'm only worth ten bucks?"_

" _And a kiss," you answered, remembering the lip print you left on his hip bone after tucking the note and the bill into the waistband of his boxers as he slept._

" _Next time, you can have me for free."_

 _You picked up the bill and shoved it into his pocket, trying your damnedest to keep thoughts of next time out of your head. A smirk slowly formed on your face as your eyes trailed up his body, stopping at the spot on his dress shirt-covered shoulder where you know you left a mark on him. "Next time, let me pay for my movie ticket."_

 _Elliot opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Munch and Fin were strolling through the doorway together. Your partner sat at his desk and immediately started pulling at files. Just before you turned your gaze downwards to start your work, he caught your eye again and smirked._

 _Yeah. There was definitely going to be a next time._

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please leave me your thoughts!

Have a great morning/afternoon/evening.

-Stabson


	6. Fault

You're not sure what you're still doing here.

Visiting hours at the hospital are long since over and the lights in Elliot's room are off. He lays, completely motionless in bed, and even through the darkness, you can see the lines of his face, hard but lax, eyes closed lightly. His eyelids don't flutter every so often as you've come to expect as you've watched him sleep. The telltale signs of his dreaming are absent. He didn't dream often during those nights you'd spent with him- but enough. More than you.

Your eyes trail down to his mouth- his lips pried apart by the tube that taunts you. He can't even breathe for himself.

You don't know how long you've been sitting here, by his side, waiting for him to wake up- or waiting for the soft beeps of the heart rate monitor to go steady. Your eyes focus on the thin green line. How long does it take for you to notice the rhythmic pattern lengthening and the beeps coming less and less frequently?

"Elliot," you whisper. The mechanical ventilator whirs. The heart rate monitor beeps slower. And slower. You grab his hand and shake him. The line is moving too slow, the beeps sound too far apart. "Elliot. Hey."

Your pleas fall on deaf ears. No matter how many times you call his name, he doesn't flinch and the beeps continue to slow. The blood roars in your ears so loudly that you can barely hear the monitor anymore.

He's not doing this to you. He can't do this to you.

"Elliot. Please, El," you stutter. Your throat burns from the effort. "Please don't go. Please. Elliot… _I need you."_

The green line goes flat. In the distance, the rhythmic beeping has taken on one single, solitary note. His chest isn't moving anymore. His skin seems to be turning cooler by the second. Before you can stop them, tears rush down your cheeks.

You need him. He can't go, not when you need him so damn much.

His hand drops from the two of yours and falls limply onto the bed. You can't stand the feel of his cold skin anymore.

 _He needed you, too. He needed you, and now…_

"So much for partners for better or worse, huh?" The voice- his rasp of a voice- haunts you.

"We are partners," you whisper. "Elliot, we're partners. I'm so sorry. Don't go- just stay with me. Please, El."

The room around you fades. Your own voice seems like it's coming from miles away, but you can't help the words as they tumble from your lips. "I'll show you. Elliot… we are partners. I'll show you."

But it's too late, because he's not lying in the bed in front of you anymore. You're alone, in the dark, heart pounding so fast in your chest that it hurts. _What's happening-oh god-what's happening?_

"Elliot!"

Your back shoots up off of the mattress. You struggle to get air through your lungs, but you're choking and gasping, gaze flying wildly around the room in an attempt to somehow discern just where the hell you are. _Elliot. Elliot. You need Elliot._

You fling back the blanket and rip open the curtains that block the windows. The sun has just come up and you're bathed in dim, early morning light. When you rush past the clock on the nightstand to find the closest pair of pants and shirt you can, the bright red numbers read 05:21.

/

The hallways of the hospital are empty. In the quiet of the early morning, all you hear are the sounds of your own feet tapping against the tile floor and the occasional nurse pushing a cart from room to room.

The lights in Elliot's room are off when you reach it. You flick the switch and stare at the bed, tears immediately clouding your vision.

The sounds of his heart monitor are loud and even. The line peaks, dips, and peaks again steadily. His chest moves up and down with each breath… he's still breathing. He's alive.

He's alive.

"Morning, El," you rasp, sitting in the chair next to his bed. Your fingers itch to reach out and touch his hands, his face, his neck, but the memory of his cold skin against yours is still burned into your mind.

If you touch him, what are the chances that he'll be cold again? What are the chances that the monitor next to him will start that long, haunting melody and that green line will go flat?

 _"So much for partners for better or worse, huh?"_

"I-I did want to be your partner," you find yourself whispering. "That's what I needed, El, I just… you can't be angry at me for that. We tried to be more… you wanted to be more, and… look what happened."

You need to feel his skin now, alive, warm underneath yours. Before you can stop yourself, the tips of your fingers run lightly over his cheek. They're stubbled, warm, just like all those times you'd cup his jaw in between kisses or desperate thrusts.

"I can't lose you."

 _"You and this job are all I've got anymore. I don't want to wreck that."_

"I couldn't take it."

/

Visiting hours are just starting when you exit Elliot's room, cheeks red and raw, eyes dried from all the tears that you shed.

The first person you see standing outside his room is a strawberry blonde wearing a business suit.

"Casey," you greet softly.

"Olivia." She closes the distance between you quickly, looking beyond you towards the doorway to his room. "I just heard… what happened to him?"

"He was shot," you swallow, preparing yourself for the words, "in…i-in the head."

Casey's hand covers her mouth and her knees nearly buckle. "Oh my God," she whispers. "Is he… do you know if he'll…?"

"Nobody knows," you whisper.

His arms had been around her. He'd taken her out to dinner, talked with her, hugged her. You wonder if they'd kissed, as well. Knowing Elliot, the first one would have been gentle, on the cheek or the back of the hand or the forehead. He was always such a gentleman, so infuriatingly sweet.

You feel sick. You've got to get out of here, away from him, away from her reaction, away from everything.

"Where are you going?" Casey asks as you turn to flee.

"To work," you throw over your shoulder. "You're here for him now, he doesn't need me."

Who were you kidding? He doesn't need you at all anymore. Not the way you need him. He got over you in a day… when he held her close in a private corner of the precinct.

"Olivia, what the hell are you talking about?" Casey asks.

"You know what I'm talking about," you say, spinning towards her. "You and Elliot."

"Me and Elliot?" Recognition suddenly flashes across Casey's face. "You're talking about when we went to dinner together."

Your silence must be all the answer she needs. "I don't know what you thought that was, but it definitely wasn't a date."

"Then what was it?"

"He was asking for advice about you," Casey says. "He was devastated over you, Olivia."

"About our partnership," you say. "He wanted advice on our partnership?"

"No, about your relationship. He was so broken up over what happened, he begged me to talk to you," Casey says. "He wanted you to know that whatever happened, he wouldn't leave you."

 _"Just going through all the women in the office now, huh?"_

 _"Go ahead, make up for those twenty years of monogamy."_

"He didn't say that," you breathe. He couldn't have said that. If he had, you'd be wrong, so wrong, you'd have hurt him terribly for no reason. No. Damn. Reason.

 _"Who's up next, Camille from Computer Crimes?"_

"He did, Olivia," Casey says.

How could you have been so stupid? You'd been so wrapped up in your own hurt the instant you'd seen Casey and Elliot holding each other, when just hours before, he'd been broken up over losing you. You know your partner. You know how his emotions work. He doesn't get over the people he cares about that easily. He wouldn't have cast aside his feelings, not that quickly. Not even if he did think that you hated him.

Oh, God. He got shot thinking that you hate him- he… he…

It's all beginning to make sense.

Elliot's fast. He would never have let that guy get the better of him in a shootout. Not him. Not during a chase, not when the level of risk was so high. They'd all known that Paul Rodriguez was a dangerous man. He wouldn't have let that happen…

Unless he was distracted.

Unless something was clouding his judgment so much that it couldn't be helped. Which means…

"I have to go," you whisper, pushing past Casey. A lump has settled in your throat- you're going to be sick.

By the time you reach the parking lot, you can barely push air through your lungs. You collapse into the driver's seat, panting, gripping the wheel so tightly that your knuckles turn white and begin to throb.

He was shot. He's in a coma. He's dying.

And it is completely, utterly, and irrevocably your fault.

/

Friday morning, just after you sit down with a cup of coffee in hand, your phone vibrates from the top of your desk.

 _Play is eight. You'll b there right?_

Instead of answering her, you set the phone back down and glance across from you. It's still jarring to see Lake sitting there instead of Elliot. Today, he's staring intently at the paperwork in front of him. He rarely looks at you- not the way he used to look at you. Every morning, as soon as you sat down, his blue eyes would divert from whatever he was doing to stare at you for a moment. He always did it like no one else in the room would notice… like no one else mattered. Of course, to him, no one else did matter.

The day is slow. By eleven, you've decided to forgo the play. You can't sit there and watch in place of her father when you're the reason he's not there.

Lake leaves at six, just like usual, but you stay. You grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sip on it, eyes focused on the blue background of the computer screen in front of you.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Your head snaps up at the sound of the captain's voice. "What?"

"Kathy called me," Cragen says. "She said Elizabeth wanted the both of us at her play tonight."

"I can't," you whisper, dropping your gaze.

Cragen sits on the desk across from you with a sigh. "Kathy told me how hard a time the kids are having without their dad," he says. "She really wants you there, Liv."

You say nothing. If any of them knew what you knew… they'd never want to see you again.

"What else are you doing tonight? Sitting in this bullpen alone? Come on, Olivia." The captain grabs your coat and holds it open for you. "Do I have to make it an order?"

"No," you say finally.

Cragen drives you to the school. Kathy, Maureen, Kathleen and Richard wait for you outside the doors of the auditorium. They each give you a hug before filing through the door and down the aisle to find a seat near the front row.

The play is _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ Lizzie plays Helena, and she does a fantastic job- Elliot would be proud. At the end of the performance, just before Lizzie appears from the back to meet her family, you grab a program to save for him.

Lizzie gives you a big hug and thanks you for coming. You can barely look her in the eye, but you congratulate her anyway, with as much excitement as you can muster. This whole thing feels wrong. You don't deserve to be here with them. If they'd known exactly what had happened…

Kathy invites you and Cragen out for dinner with the kids. You politely refuse, as does the captain, and he drives you home.

"I'm going to the hospital in the morning," he says as the car pulls up in front of your building. "I can pick you up if you want."

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth, silent for a moment, but finally shake your head. You can't face him again. Not right now. Not after what Casey said, not now knowing what you know. You're not sure if you'll be able to face him again, with that tube in his mouth, those wires winding around his body.

That tube and those wires, all there because of you.

How could you expect to face him again?

* * *

A/N: Hello! Yes, I know, it's been about three thousand years since I actually updated this, and I apologize. I really have no excuse other than school and a complete lack of motivation for writing anything fiction whatsoever. I'm back with this, though. I can't promise I'll be back for very long, but I will say that I'll try my best to get this thing done for your guys. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think below :)

-Stabson


	7. Time

Five weeks pass.

For five weeks, you slog through rape victim, after abused child, after rape victim, without the one person that truly keeps you sane.

Since Lizzie's play, you stopped going to the hospital during the day to visit Elliot. During the day, you'd have to see them again. You'd face the pain in his children's eyes. After what Casey told you, and after what you realized yourself, you can't look at them without a ball of guilt crushing your chest. Instead, you slip through the corridors in the dark of the night or early morning, when you have to flash your badge to the nurses that look at you with suspicion in their eyes.

During these visits with him, you still take the time to hold his hand. To say how sorry you are. To tell him how much his children miss him and how much you wish he'd wake up. The guilt that you feel isn't enough to keep you away from him. Not now, at least.

It's his birthday that really fucks you up.

October 20. Three years ago, you managed to convince Maureen to take the rest of the kids to the precinct to visit him. Last year, you came back from Oregon right around this date. This year…

This year, when you go to see him, the tube is still in his mouth and the machine still breathes for him.

You sit down next to him and take his hand, just like usual.

"Happy Birthday, El," you whisper. You can almost see the twitch of a smile and the mumbled, "thanks" he gave you the last time you said those words to him.

Almost.

 _You have to let him go. You're losing your sanity._

Seven weeks he's been like this. Seven weeks, and it has felt like an eternity. You can't even imagine what it would be like to live this way forever.

 _Oh, God._

You can't do this tonight. You've only been here for five minutes and you're already choking, already shaking.

You've got to get out of here.

/

You don't know how you end up sitting on a barstool with your fourth vodka tonic between your fingers. As you finish the drink, you realize that you don't really care.

The last time you went to a bar, you were with him. You two had just closed a rough case and he asked you out. You never drink to get drunk, your mother had taught you never to let yourself sink that low, but that night was different. A good couple of stiff drinks with your partner was exactly what you'd needed.

A couple of stiff drinks turned into a couple too many for both of you and you ended up stumbling down the street, arm in arm, towards the subway. Just as the train was pulling away from the station, he planted a kiss right on your lips in the solitary train car. It had been the first time he ever kissed you outside the seclusion of either of your apartments.

You'd been too drunk to protest. In fact, you were the one that initiated the long, steamy make out session that followed, keeping the two of you busy for the entirety of the twenty minute long train ride.

Tonight, you're alone. The glass of clear liquid in front of you is empty.

"How's it going?" A man slides onto the stool next to you. He's tall and thin. His blond hair is slicked back, he's wearing an expensive suit, you can smell scotch on him.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, hazel eyes flickering from your face, down to your glass and back up.

Before you can change your mind, before you can think about what taking that one drink entails, you're nodding your head. Yes.

 _Elliot's not coming back. You'll never be in his arms, his bed, underneath his warm, naked body._

The man tells you his name- Brad. And you know he's too pretentious for his own good. But you don't care. You listen to him tell you about his job. He's a stockbroker on Wall Street. Probably makes more in a month than you do in a year. You laugh at his bad jokes. You lean in closer when you feel his hand cover your thigh. And when he throws down a couple of bills to pay for both of your tabs and suggests that the two of you get out of there, together, you nod your head before you can think about what a bad idea it is.

He drives a black Mercedes. When you slide into the passenger seat and he pulls off, you don't question his hand sliding up your thigh.

The ride to his apartment can't be more than fifteen minutes long. You've drunken too much to really notice or care. As soon as the door to his apartment closes behind the two of you, his body is against yours. He's running his hands over you, pulling you against him, hard and demanding.

 _Elliot kicked the door closed behind the two of you and immediately pulled your body against his. His hands slipped under your shirt, running along your skin, soft but insistent, holding you close. He rid you of the shirt quickly, then lowered his mouth to your neck and down your collarbone. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his teeth scraped lightly down your chest._

His hands rove over your body, squeezing your breasts and your ass, pulling your body into the hardness in his pants. You quickly become an active participant in the situation, pulling at the buttons of his shirt, yanking it from his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor.

He's not as muscular as Elliot. His abs aren't as defined, pecs aren't as big and hard, shoulders aren't as broad. You aren't afforded too long to contemplate the differences, because he's on you again, attacking your neck, sucking your skin into his mouth. His hand moves down your body, between your legs.

 _Elliot lifted you into his arms and your legs immediately wrapped around his waist. Your lips fused with his once more, tongues dancing together as he carried you into the bedroom. The mattress hit your back and he fell between your legs, hands fumbling with the button of your pants, struggling to get them off while keeping his lips on yours. Your body throbbed under him, desperate to remove the barriers that kept you from feeling him on top of you fully. Finally, he managed to yank down your pants. You shoved them fully from around your ankles, shivering as his fingers ran up your thighs. His touch set you on fire. You needed more- always needed more._

The stockbroker- _what's his name again?_ \- runs his hands over your bare skin. He's pulling at the hooks of your bra and sucking a piece of your collarbone between his teeth. You're pretty sure that he's trying to mark you but you don't stop him. Instead, you fist the hair on the back of his head, breath coming out in short gasps as the world spins around you. The throbbing between your legs is quickly fading.

He's attractive. He wants you. You're already half naked in his apartment- you can do this. This is what you wanted. This is what you're getting.

He finally gets your bra off. His chest pushes your back against the mattress and his hips are pressing firmly in the crux of your legs.

 _A harsh moan expelled from Elliot's chest and made its way into your ear as he pushed fully into your body. Every inch of him was pressed against you- inside of you. His lips touched the shell of your ear, one wrapped tightly around your waist while the other laced your fingers with his above your head on the mattress. His hold was intimate, gentle, and, though you couldn't admit it, loving._

The stockbroker's pants are around his ankles and he's reaching for the waistband of his briefs- one of the last barriers that separate you from him.

Suddenly you feel sick. Your stomach turns as you slide your body away from his, whispering, "Stop."

He sits back on his heels as the reality of what you were about to do slams down on you. You can't breathe. "What?"

"I gotta go." You're up, gathering your clothing quickly, eyes beginning to sting. What the fuck were you thinking?

You're dressed in record time and before the man has a chance to try to stop you, out the door. Your feet come down hard on the tiled steps in the stairwell as you flee, gasping for breath, world spinning, trying to focus solely on not falling down the stairs. You almost had sex with a stranger.

As soon as you make it outside, you're hunched over, leaning against the side of the building and gagging as the alcohol in your stomach fights its way upwards. You almost had sex with him- a man that you don't even know. How could you do something so stupid?

And now you don't even know where you are.

Swallowing the disgusting taste in your mouth, you start walking down the mostly deserted street. It's late- or early, really. And you're tired. So damn tired…

It seems like forever before you get a chance to hail a cab, and even longer to get back to your place. You hand the driver some money and stumble up the steps of your building.

The first thing you do when you enter your empty apartment is toe off your shoes and head straight to the bedroom to change.

When you check your messages, you have two unread voicemails- you know who they're both from. They've been there for seven weeks.

Your thumb overs over the button. You're not sure why you haven't deleted them yet. You didn't want to listen to them in the first place… maybe it's the knowledge that there's at least one more chance for you to listen to his voice.

Have you ever wanted to hear his voice more than right now? It's one of the things you miss the absolute most about him- his calm, soft timbre, the way he pushed words into your ear as he laid close next to you, or the soothing voice he used to talk with victims. Hell, you even miss the commanding, no-bullshit tone he used with a perp.

A shaking breath falls from your chest. You don't care what he's going to sound like in these messages. You just need to hear him.

 _"Hey, Liv. We really need to talk. Call me back. Bye."_

The phone beeps. You swallow, press _"save,"_ and the next message begins to play.

 _"Hey. I'm on my way over."_ This time, his voice pulls tears from your eyes. It's not like any of the three voices you imagined. This one is just as familiar, though- it's the one that he used to tell you about Kathy. The one that makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach, and the one that you'd hate yourself for if you ever caused. The one that means he's heartbroken. _"But who am I kidding, you're not gonna let me in."_ He pauses again for a long, silent moment. Finally, he says, _"Listen, Liv. I know this sucks- being your partner means just as much to me as it does to you. But if it comes down to our partnership, or what we've had over these past few months… I'd pick what we have now every time. I lo-… you mean so much to me. I hope you know that. No matter what, I won't stop caring about you. I won't leave you. Please, if you're listening, just open the door and talk to me."_

You drop the phone onto your nightstand and collapse against the bedroom wall with a sigh. Of course. He'd be the one to just accept not being partners anymore. He'd be the one willing to give up the relationship you and he had known. Even after a divorce, he wasn't afraid of love. Bastard… fucking bastard. Didn't he realize how much you dreaded the l-word? Didn't he realize what would happen if he said it to you like he did?

None of this would have happened if he had just kept his feelings to himself. You'd still be partnered with him. You'd have been the one watching his back on the roof of that building. You would have seen the gun. He wouldn't have been distracted. Everything would have been fine if he didn't say that stupid line.

 _I love you._

He didn't love you. And he didn't care as much about your partnership as you did, because if he did, he wouldn't have said that.

"Fuck you, Elliot," you whisper up to the ceiling.

Fuck him for saying that. Fuck him for ruining everything. And fuck him for making you feel so goddamn shitty with that stupid message. That message that he sounded so hurt in. That message that made you feel so terrible about your actions.

Just fuck him.

You wipe at the tears that you didn't realize had formed in your eyes. You're tired… and drunk. You need to sleep.

/

Loud ringing forces you back to consciousness. Your hear pounds. Acid burns the inside of your mouth. You're shocked you haven't vomited.

"Yeah?" you rasp, and immediately clear your burning throat. Advil and water. Advil and water. As soon as you hang up, Advil and water.

"Olivia."

"Cap'n?" His tone makes you shoot straight up. Oh, God. You wish he hadn't greeted you with that tone… that one that never means good news.

"Are you at home?"

"Yeah," you pause, breathing evenly to try to calm your heart rate. "Why? What's going on, Captain?" You're afraid to even ask what's on your lips. You don't want to know. You don't want to know… but you need to. "E-Elliot?"

"He's awake."

* * *

A/N: Review? ;)

-Stabson


	8. Elliot

**Five Weeks Earlier…**

 _"Screw you!"_

 _"You already did a few times over, sweetheart!"_

 _"Go to hell, you asshole. No wonder Kathy left you."_

 _"That's enough!"_

"Elliot." Fin grabs your shoulder. "C'mon, man."

The blood still roars in your ears and your face is hot. _What the fuck is her problem? She thinks it's okay to say that shit to you- after all you tried to do to get the two of you back together?_

You stumble up the stairs towards the locker room, Fin's hands squeezing your shoulders, forcing you away from the woman that you just want to shake the hardheadedness out of.

As soon as the door of the locker room swings shut, your fist meets the closest thing to you- a row of lockers. _Bang. Bang. Bang._

Your chest shakes as you collapse onto the bench that sits in the middle of the room. You won't cry over her. Not after everything that just happened.

"You a'ight, man?" Fin asks.

You snort. Are you alright? No. You had no idea that one admission of love standing in the middle of your Brooklyn apartment could lead to all of this. How it could lead to the end of your romance, the end of your partnership, and now… maybe even the end of your friendship. You've never regretted anything that's happened between you and Olivia, but you've never been closer to that thought than you are now.

"Let's just get back to work," you grumble, scrubbing the heels of your palms against the hollows of your eyes. You need something to get your mind off of all this.

Fin hesitates, but nods slowly. "Alright."

When you walk back down the stairs, Olivia is gone. The captain's door is closed, but the lights are on and you can see him on the phone at his desk.

Not long after you sit down, he calls out your name from the doorway, "Elliot."

"Close the door," he says as you step into the office. He leans against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "Is it going to be a problem, having you and Olivia in the same bullpen?"

You swallow the lump in your throat as the heat begins to rise in your chest once more. _Will it be?_ Every time you look at her, will this feeling well up inside you? Every time she talks to you, will you remember how good it had been to be with her?

 _You did nothing wrong. She's the one that overreacted. She's the one that thought an innocent hug with a friend was something more._

This is her fault. Her fucking fault.

"No, cap'n," you mumble.

"Are you sure about that?"

 _No._

"Yes."

"Alright, then." Cragen holds up a slip of paper. "We got a suspect on that serial rape case, Paul Rodriguez. Take Fin with you, and be careful. We know this guy's armed."

All the way to Rodriguez's apartment, the heat inside won't cool. Your tie is too constricting around your neck, Fin's driving is too slow, it's too hot in the fucking car. Olivia's voice won't leave your damn head.

When you bang on the front door of the apartment, you almost immediately notice that blood has crusted over the broken skin of your knuckles. "Rodriguez! Police, open up!"

Who the fuck gave her the right to talk to you like that? What the fuck made her believe that nonsense? You're not like her. You can't just hook up with random women and let them go the next morning. You can't have sex and go out together and sleep in the same bed without developing feelings- or in her case, without feelings growing stronger. Yet she did all of those things knowing that she'd never say she loves you back.

You're so fucking stupid. Stupid for loving her. Stupid for thinking this would work when this is the way she treats you- like dirt. Like your feelings don't even matter. Like the only thing your relationship with her is good for is sex.

Your hand slams down on the wood again. Fuck her. You don't need that. You don't need her. "RODRIGUEZ!"

Fin's hand wraps around your bicep. "He's not here, man."

A crash echoes through the door. Your foot makes contact and it blows back on its hinges before you even get your gun out. Violence always did have a way of curbing your rage.

You catch a glimpse of your perp just as he flees out the living room window and onto the fire escape. You holster your weapon and sprint after him.

 _"Who's next, Camille from Computer Crimes?"_

 _"Let's talk. If you hadn't kissed me in the elevator, we wouldn't be in this mess!"_

No. She'd still be avoiding you like the plague. She would have ran. Back to Computer Crimes, back to the Feds, anywhere to get away from you, because apparently caring so much for her is a curse she'd give up her job and home for. You caring so much results in her breaking off your partnership without so much as a word and her slamming phones in your ear before you get a chance to say hello… or goodbye.

Your foot catches on the step of the fire escape and your knee comes down hard on metal. _Fuck!_

Two flights of fire scape stairs and you're on the roof, Fin only steps behind.

 _"I don't want to talk to you because I don't love you."_

She doesn't care. She never felt the same way as you. You're a fool if you thought so in the first place.

A lump rises in your throat- you need to hit something. You need to collapse. You need to call her and beg her, because as much as you curse her name and tell yourself that you don't need her, that's not true. You need her like you need oxygen. You love her.

You fucking love her and there's nothing you can do to stop.

Why can't she just understand that?

You round the corner, heart pumping from the chase.

 _"I don't love you."_

Your perp stands at the ledge of the building. He immediately reaches for the bulge in the waistband of his pants.

"FREEZE!"

 _"I don't love you."_

 _"I don't love you."_

Your body is immobilized, her words echoing so loudly in your head that it hurts- so loudly that you barely hear the _CRACK._

Suddenly, your back is against the cold, card concrete. Her words quickly dissolve to ringing in your ears. Warm liquid seeps down your forehead, over your eyes.

 _"I don't love you."_

"Elliot!"

She's kneeling above you, terror written across her face. Her beautiful hair blows gently in the breeze- she's always been so beautiful.

You'll do anything for her just to forgive you. You'll take the blame. You'll apologize. You'll say anything if it means at least just one more night with her warm body next to yours.

"Livia," you rasp. It feels like someone is drilling a hole into the front of your skull. It hurts- it hurts so fucking badly you can't stand it. "I-I'm sorry, Liv… I didn't mean'it. M'sorry. I-I-I…"

"C'mon man, stay with me. I promised your partner I'd watch your back, you can't die on me now."

Fire burns inside your skull. The world is a mess of blurred shapes and colors. But you have to just hear her say it's alright. You don't even care if she loves you the way you love her, you just want to be with her any way you can. "Need you, Liv."

Your eyelids feel like led.

"Don't close your eyes, man. C'mon, stay with me!"

 _"I don't love you."_

/

 **Present**

Everything around you is black. You muscles refuse to cooperate- you can't move. Can't speak. Can't think. Voices swirl around you- filled with panic, fear, sorrow- but you can't understand what they're saying.

 _What's going on?_

It's been a long time. You know that, but beyond that, you still can't think- can't think about where you are, what happened, why you're laying somewhere, still unable to move. You want to open your eyes. You're terrified because you can't- are you dead? Is this what death feels like- the inability to form thoughts, or move, or understand what's happening around you?

Suddenly, the feelings start to come back. You're choking- something foreign fills your throat and you gag, but it's not coming up. Your eyes crack open and fill with tears, fists close around the blanket on top of you.

You scan the room, eyes falling on machines beside you and light from the hallway leaking in through the open door. You recognize this place. You know where you are, but your brain can't form a name for it. The place where hurt people go. Why can't you…?

Your thumb falls on a button on the remote at your side instinctively. It seems like forever before a nurse steps through the doorway and flicks on a switch. You wince, eyes slamming shut as the fluorescent light burns your irises.

"Welcome back, Detective," the nurse says softly, her hand coming down lightly on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, that light must be too bright. Here, this must be better."

The bright light fades. You open your eyes slowly as the old woman smiles down at you. Wrinkles gather in the corners of her eyes and mouth and there are streaks of gray in her hair, pulled back into a messy bun. You want to thank her, but it comes out in a grunt and sends more gags tearing through your throat.

"Just relax. We'll get that tube out."

 _Tube?_

Another nurse and a doctor approach your bed. Your head is spinning. You have no idea what's going on, you want this thing out of your throat but you also want these people to disappear. Their chatter is making your head hurt and so many words all at once is just noise going through your ears.

The first nurse you met stands close to your side. Her voice reminds you of Olivia's, when she talks to a young victim, and you like it. You just want to keep hearing that tone, one that wraps around you like a blanket.

"This is gonna be uncomfortable for a moment, okay?" Her hand trails down to yours. "Just squeeze my hand."

Un…comfortable… that's bad, isn't it?

 _Christ, what's wrong with you?_

You feel like your esophagus is being yanked out through your mouth. You choke and gag, tears sprouting in your eyes. The nurse is talking to you, but once again the words make no sense.

Finally, the tube is out of your throat. You draw in a sharp breath, gasping and coughing as you try to swallow down the sharp pain in your throat.

"That's it. Just breathe."

Slowly, you're able to force air through your lungs. Your throat stops burning. Your eyes flicker around the man and two women that surround you. "W-w-wha..." You grit your teeth, clenching your eyes shut as ice travels down your spine. You can't form words, and your scratchy throat at and dry mouth aren't the reason.

"I'm Dr. Lima," one of the women says. "You're in the hospital."

"Wh-what... happ...ened?"

Lima drags over a chair and sits. When she speaks, it's slow and even, but still, only a few words make sense. "Shot... the head... coma... over a month..."

"Coma?" Once again, the fact that you can't remember what that word means scares you.

The doctor purses her lips, turning towards the nurse that sounds like Olivia. When she turns back towards you, there's a smile that's meant to be reassuring on her face. "You should sleep for now. We'll talk more tomorrow. Okay?"

Sleep. Sleep. You should sleep.

Slowly, your head nods. Lima and the male nurse disappear. The last one, the one that came to you first, fixes your blanket and sets the remote next to you on the bed. "I'm Jillian, by the way. If you need anything, just hit the call button."

You nod slowly, suddenly wishing they the old nurse would sit beside you, even just for a little while. This dark, lonely room... you're not ready to be alone in it yet.

"Goodnight, Detective."

"Elliot," you say. "M-my name."

Jillian's lips turn upwards and she nods. "Goodnight, Elliot."

She flicks the lamp off, leaving you in darkness once more.

/

Your eyes open slowly. For a moment, you lay in confused silence, eyes flickering around the room, before you remember the nurse from the night before- what was her name again?

"Welcome back, Elliot." Captain Cragen sits next to you in a rumpled suit. His hand closes around your shoulder. "It's great to see you awake."

"Mornin'," you rasp, coughing to clear your throat. "'S goin' on…?"

"You in a coma for two months."

"C-coma?" You remember the nurse saying that last night, but you still cannot think of the meaning of the word. "W-what…?" Your voice trails off as your mind clouds. What were you asking?

Cragen frowns. "You were asleep. I'm gonna go get your doctor, okay? I'll be right back."

As the captain slips through the doorway, your eyes fall on the pitcher of water on the table next to you. Your throat is dry… you felt like there's a desert in your mouth. You try to reach for the pitcher, but your hand doesn't want to cooperate with you- it only makes it from your lap to the sliver of mattress next to you.

Why can't you move?

The door swings open slowly and one of the women that you remember from last night steps through, with Cragen close behind.

"Good morning, Elliot," she greets. "How are you doing this morning?"

"Um," you mumble. "I-I don't know."

"That's alright. I'm just going to run a few tests with you, if that's okay."

You glance at the captain, then nod. Cragen gives you one final pat on the shoulder. "I'll be right outside."

With that, he steps back out of the room and you're left alone to deal with whatever has been going on in your head since the shooting.

* * *

A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to thank you guys for your unwavering support of this story. I was afraid that after so long, no one would want to keep reading it, but your kind comments and reviews have truly touched me. Thanks for sticking with me for this one 3

-Stabson


	9. Woke

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Jackie. Hang in there, love.

* * *

By the time you reach Elliot's room, your lungs are about to burst. Captain Cragen waits in the hall, hands shoved into his pockets, back pressed against the wall next to Elliot's door.

"What's going on?" you choke out as you reach him. "Elliot…?"

A smile full of relief spreads across the captain's face. "I was just talking with him ten minutes ago," he murmurs. "He's awake, Liv."

The lump in your throat turns into a sob that you can't prevent. Your knees give out from under you and you collapse against Cragen's chest, tears overflowing your eyes and streaming down your cheeks.

"He's awake."

He's awake. He's going to be okay.

Thank God he's going to be okay. He'll get to see his kids again. Hold them in his arms, tell them that everything will be okay. See the next play Lizzie stars in. Kathleen graduate from college. Dickie become just as good a man as he is. Maureen fall in love and get married. He'll get up out of that hospital bed and go home. And you won't have to go on knowing that you caused something that you could never fix. You won't know what it feels like to lose him forever.

You wipe your eyes and peer through the window on the door of his room, where he sits up with Doctor Lima.

"What's going on in there?"

The captain frowns as you look back at him. "Doctor Lima is running some tests with him. Before you go in there… there's something wrong, Liv. In his head."

The relief that has built up in your chest immediately falls. "W-what is it?"

"We don't know yet. When I first spoke with him this morning, he was… having trouble coming up with words. They think he has brain damage."

"Brain damage?" you repeat. There's a brick in your throat. Your knees are weak, you can barely stay standing. Brain damage. Will he even recognize you if you walk into his hospital room? If he does, will he remember everything the two of you have been through? _Anything_ you two have been through?

Will he blame you for what happened to him, just like he should?

"He knows who he is. He recognized me, he even asked about you," Cragen says. "The doctor's trying to figure out exactly what's missing."

He remembers you. He asked for you. You don't know whether that's a blessing or a curse. Maybe it would have been better if he didn't remember you. If he never knows you exist… at least then, one of the two of you could walk away without a broken heart.

"Hey. Look at me." You raise your gaze from the cold, white tile floor. The captain's face is blurred by your tears. "He's going to be okay, Liv. Whatever's going on, he'll get through it. We'll help him get through it together. Okay?"

You take a deep breath, but before you can answer one way or the other, the door to Elliot's room slides open and Doctor Lima steps out.

"So what's the damage?" the captain asks as Lima closes the door softly behind her.

"Well, there's good news and bad news," she begins gently. "The good news is that for the most part, his memory seems to be intact. He knows who he is and vaguely what happened. But beyond that… there was damage done to the frontal and temporal lobes of his brain."

"So what does that mean?"

"His brain is having some trouble signaling his muscles, causing sluggish movement. He's also having some trouble processing speech- thinking of certain words, putting sentences together and understanding complex sentences," Lima pauses, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Here it comes- something devastating, that has broken his world, and as a result, yours as well. God, you just want to turn around and run. Before you get a chance, she finishes, "The left part of his frontal lobe was damaged enough to affect his ability to read, write, and do basic mathematics. When I asked him to read off of a sheet of paper, he wasn't able to."

Cragen's arm wraps around your shoulders and you allow yourself to fall against him. Somehow, you don't even understand the words that came out of her mouth. He can't read. He can't read.

"What can we do to help him?" Cragen rasps.

"He'll start to recover when he's ready. Right now, the best thing you can do is be there to support him." Lima glances over her shoulder at the door that is now closed. "And try not to let him push himself too hard. Stress will make things worse, and…"

"And?" you ask. Dear God, can something else really be wrong with? You don't know if you can survive another blow right now.

"Well, the frontal lobe also controls mood and emotion. We're not sure exactly how much of his brain was damaged, but you might find that his control of emotion has changed, as well. The important thing is to just try to help him stay calm."

If she knew Elliot the same way you do, she'd know what an impossible task that is. You take a shuttering breath, and nod slowly. Keep him calm… keep him calm. That's how he'll get better. Time and even emotion. He has his work cut out for him… and you do, as well.

"Thanks, Doc."

Cragen squeezes your shoulders as Doctor Lima disappears down the hallway towards another room.

"Ready?" he asks, guiding you towards the door.

Your heart slowly begins to pound as Lima's words repeat in your head. _His control of emotion has changed. When I asked him to read, he couldn't. His brain is having trouble signaling his muscles._

 _Stress will make things worse._

 _Help him stay calm._

The last time you were near him when he was awake, he was anything but calm.

"I can't," you whisper. He'll be better off without you. He'll recover quicker without you.

 _You can't walk in there and see him like he is._

Cragen freezes. His eyes bore into yours and you have to turn from his gaze. "What do you mean, you can't? Elliot needs you, Olivia."

"He's in there because of me."

You rub your hands over your eyes and blindly make your way down the hallway towards the elevator. You can't do this… you've got to get out of here.

You find yourself pointing your car towards Brooklyn instead of your own apartment. Your muscles guide you down the quiet streets, to the building that you've spent so many nights in, and before you know it, you're twisting your brass key into the lock and the door is creaking open.

The apartment is dark, chilly and silent. You walk down the hall towards the bedroom, flip the light on, and stand frozen in the doorway as you stare at the bed. The covers are thrown back. The sheet is wrinkled. A rumpled t-shirt hangs halfway out of the hamper that sits next to the closet.

This place is like a capsule from the past- it is exactly the same as it was seven weeks ago, when he threw the covers of his bed back, wiped the sleep from his eyes and padded into the bathroom to take a shower before work. He was wearing his dark blue dress shirt and charcoal jacket that day. Your favorite shirt. Did he do that on purpose? To try to get you back, to change your mind?

You scoff. It's not like it matters now. If he doesn't hate you, he should.

You wipe the wetness from your eyes and carefully close the door before walking back into the living room. A stack of mail and the newspaper is thrown carelessly on one side of the coffee table. A case file is open on the other. You almost smile. Workaholic.

Just like you.

It's your day off. You have nowhere else to go, so you sit on the couch and snuggle up with the afghan he keeps hanging over the cushion. If you close your eyes for a moment, maybe you can pretend that the past seven weeks haven't happened. Maybe you can pretend that he's okay, that you two hadn't fought, and most important, that he was never on that rooftop.

/

Cragen has called you three times since this morning. It's nearing midnight and you still lay on Elliot's couch, the television blaring an episode of House. The last time you two were together, you two had watched it.

 _"Not my fault you take all of my energy."_

 _"We can't have that. Let me see what I can scrounge up."_

You can almost taste the strawberries he held out for you. You can almost feel him pull you into his lap to make love to you.

Shivers wrack your body. You need to see him. Dear God, you just need to see him.

It takes you almost an hour to get to the hospital. The hallways are empty except for nurses, but with one quick flash of your badge, you're walking towards his room.

Your fingers wrap slowly around the cold metal handle, frozen for a moment. It's almost one o'clock in the morning, he must be asleep by now. Holding your breath, you slowly slide open the door.

The room is pitch black and silent- his heart monitor beats strongly, the mechanical ventilator whirring is finally gone, replaced with the soft sound of his even breaths. In the moonlight, you can see him in bed, on his back, blanket wrapped loosely around his waist as he sleeps peacefully. His hands still rest by his sides, tube winding to the I.V. in the crux of his arm. The tube that once protruded from the corner of his mouth, however, is gone, replaced with a much smaller, less threatening nasal cannula, wrapping from his ears over his cheeks and under his nose. He looks better- so much better than the last time you saw him.

"Hey, El," you whisper, voice softer than a whisper of a breeze as you sit down next to him. He's going to be okay. He's actually going to be okay. Your hands ache to reach out and envelope his own, but you can't wake him. He needs to rest- he needs to get better. He'll never know you're here. "You're gonna be okay."

Tears stream slowly down your cheeks. Just a week ago, he was on death's doorstep. Just a week ago, you were mourning the loss of him. But now… you get to keep your best friend- your partner. You don't feel like half of your soul has been shattered.

His eyes slowly flutter and his lips part. He's waking up- you should leave. You never wanted him to see you here. But your muscles are frozen in place and as much as you know that you should get out of here, for him, you just can't. The thought of seeing his beautiful eyes and hearing his deep voice is too much to resist.

Through the darkness, you can see his irises sparkle as they move around the room, then slowly settle on you. Your heart jumps into your throat and you want to reach up to wipe away the tears, jump out of your seat and flee, and lean forward to kiss him all at the same time.

The muscles in his face twitch. He stares at you, eyes cracked open just enough to see you. Even in the darkness, you see the lines of exhaustion etched into his features. How can he look so damn tired after sleeping so long?

His mouth opens to speak. You lean forward and hold your breath in anticipation, waiting to hear his voice for the first time in over a month, and one word stutters past his lips. "L-Liv?"

Your tears turn into a waterfall. You can't stop your hand from reaching forward and covering his cheek. You can't stop your breath from shuddering as your palm feels the stubble on his skin. And you can't stop your whole body from scooting forward and leaning down, forehead pressing lightly against his.

He's warm. His skin smells like rubbing alcohol and his body is completely lax, like if he even wanted to move, he wouldn't have the strength. "Liv," he murmurs again, lips barely moving. His lips... you know they've got to be dry and chapped, like sandpaper, but why doesn't that stop the need to cover them with yours? You could do it. You could kiss him. Just one little kiss, one more second to memorize the way his mouth feels against yours. He's so out of it, he probably won't even remember. In the morning, he'll probably forget you were even here.

But you'll remember. You'll remember seeing his vulnerability, the one quality that scares you to death seeing in him.

"Shh," you whisper, letting your eyes slowly slide closed. Your hand moves behind his head as you hold him to you, for just one more moment. You'll give in to the comfort of his body for just one last moment. "Go back to sleep."

"Don't... don't leave."

You pull back, ever so slightly, and stare at his face. Your control breaks... you can't hold back anymore. Your lips descend on him slowly. Just once, just this one last time, you need to feel him against you.

But once your mouth is against his, you're frozen. God, you missed this. You missed it so much it almost hurts.

Finally, you pull away from him. There's a smile on his face, the first smile you've seen outside your dreams in a very long time. And slowly, his eyes close.

"G'night, El," you whisper. _Goodbye._

* * *

A/N: Please let me know what you think!


	10. Cragen

A/N: Hello! I know this chapter is pretty short, but here you go. Here's a little Cragen.

* * *

Your head hurts. The tie around your neck is loose, but it's still irritatingly present, and you just want to rip it off. Not to mention, you're completely exhausted. When is the last time you got a full night's sleep?

With a sigh, you check your watch. It's almost six. Elliot will be expecting you… you told him you'd be by today. It'll be the third time this week. Ever since he woke up, you've been going to see him as much as you can. At the beginning, when the migraines were constant and he could barely formulate a full sentence, you'd been by his side almost every day, from the moment you could get off of work and make the drive over to Mercy to the end of visiting hours. Those first few days had been the worst. He'd been confused, almost disbelieving of what happened, from the shooting to missing over a month of his life.

It's been about two weeks since then. The process is slow, but you can hear how his speech has been improving. He's slowly starting to ask about what happened in those weeks that he missed. You try to visit him at least twice a week, once on a weeknight and once over the weekend, because you know that he needs all the company he can get right now.

With a sigh, you rub your temples, finish putting away the rest of the files on your desk and slowly unroll your sleeves. You've been distracted for the past half hour, and the file on your desk can wait until the morning.

The squad room is quiet. Overall, it's been functional, but it's like a piece has been missing. Losing someone with as big a personality as Elliot has left a hole, especially since he has been one half of one of your best duos. The cases aren't solved as quickly as they used to be. The squad doesn't have the same vibe- doesn't gel in the same way. Olivia's not the same. Munch and Fin aren't the same. You miss the way things used to be. It used to be easy running this unit- not dealing with the cases, but managing the detectives. Now… you're more tired than you've probably ever been as a captain.

Olivia and Lake's desks are empty. They're probably out on an interview. Fin, who's back partnering with Munch, sits at his desk with a case file in hand. Across from him, your injured detective's desk is almost exactly the way he left it- a closed file sits in the center. The desk calendar is still set for February. It's almost like a time capsule- until you're forced to hire more help, you're pretty sure that it will stay that way.

Fin looks up, leans back in his chair and nods. "Goin' to the hospital?"

You nod. Your detectives have come to expect this from you. Munch and Fin have been their fair share of times, especially Fin, who still feels somewhat responsible for what happened. The only one that hasn't is the one that Elliot wants to see the most. The woman whose desk is currently vacant.

"Go home, Fin," you say. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Don't gotta tell me twice. Say hey to El for me."

As Fin leans over to shut off his computer, you grab your coat off the rack and make your way towards the elevator.

/

When you slide the hospital room door open, Elliot sits up in his bed, table over his lap. A pen hangs loosely in his grip. He was able to get rid of the hospital gown a few days ago, after virtually begging his nurse to let him have some normal clothes, and now wears a gray t-shirt with Mercy Hospital printed across the chest.

You knock on the door and he looks up at you.

"Practicing?" you ask, sitting down beside him.

He stares down at the chicken scratch littering the page, frowning. "Look at this. I'm…" The frown grows deeper as he drops the pen and leans back. "Help…hope…less?"

"You're not hopeless. Or helpless. You've just got to give yourself some time."

"Time," he repeats, rubbing his temples. "Too much time."

He's performed that same motion several times in the couple of weeks that you've visited him- each time a precursor for one of the terrible migraines he's developed. You take the sheet of paper away from him and set down the brown paper bag that you picked up on the way over. You've got to calm him down. "Hey. Relax, Elliot, take a break. Have a snack."

He visibly relaxes. One, two, three seconds go by without any sign of pain, and you thank God for small favors. Every break from the shit this man has to deal with is a miracle.

He peaks into the bag and his lips twitch upwards. "Roast beef?"

"What else?"

He takes the sandwich and can of Coke out of the bag, a full on smile crossing his face. "Thanks, Cap'n."

You reach for the remote to turn on the Yankees game as Elliot eats. He asks you to remind him what happened during spring training. It's the third time you've told him, the second time he's forgotten, but you go over the details again with enthusiasm- how they lost against the Orioles, Phillies and Braves, but beat the Red Sox in a shut-out. You lament Carl Pavano's freakish injury at first base. They're currently five and four, but you've got a good feeling about this game against the Royals.

Elliot finishes off his sandwich just as the seventh inning ends. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and stares at you. His eyebrows raise as his fingers rip at the napkin. "Liv?" he asks softly.

"Not today," you say.

You can't take the disappointment in his eyes. Every single time you come to see him, he asks for her. Every time, you have to see that same look. Damn it, she should be the one here with him.

"She'll be here." But truth be told, you don't know if she will be. You've asked her to come here with you so many times, and so many times she's refused with excuse after excuse.

His gaze drops. "I know we were fighting," he mumbles. "But I just thought…"

 _I meant more to her than this._

The unsaid words hang in the air. You squeeze his shoulder tightly. "Don't worry about her, son," you murmur. "She'll come."

But, in reality, you've never been more unsure.

/

Instead of heading home after you leave the hospital, you drive straight back to the 1-6. As you push through the door to the bullpen, the first thing your eyes land on is Olivia, who sits at her desk with an open case file. Her cheek rests in her hand as she taps her pen against the top page of the file. She looks bored.

Bored. Her partner is laying in a bed agonizing over her and she's sitting, _bored_ at her desk.

"Benson!" you shout. "My office!"

"Yeah, cap?" she asks, stepping into your office. She closes the door behind her and turns towards you. "What's up?"

You have to swallow your urge to just grab her shoulders and shake her. With a calming breath, you sit on the corner of your desk and cross your arms over your chest. You didn't say anything when she asked for a new partner after the Gitano case. You kept your mouth shut about her return after the job with the Feds- out of respect. Out of knowing when they needed a break from each other.

But this… you can't keep quiet with this. You can't watch the man that's been like a son to you grow more and more disappointed with every passing day. Waiting, waiting, waiting, for her to show up at his door when you know she doesn't have any intention of doing so. Just like her stint with the Feds.

No. Now is worse. Now, he barely knows what's in his own head. You've seen the pain and fear in his eyes. There's one person that can help ease that and she refuses to do so.

Fire erupts inside of you. You can't continue to let this happen. You can't watch it anymore.

With one more deep breath, you speak. "I visited Elliot earlier. We started talking and I got to think about what would have happened if your positions were reversed."

Her eyes meet yours and you immediately see the surprise. "Huh?"

"If it was you laying in that hospital bed, I would have had to force him to leave your room. He would have been next to you every second before and after you woke up, Olivia. Would have used up all of his sick time just to stay there with you." You can see it in your head- the heavy bags under his eyes, his rumpled clothes, the days of scruff built up on his cheeks. You would have had to threaten him just to make him go home and take care of himself. You would have seen the tears in his eyes as he confessed the love for her that you've been pretending not to see.

"So what's your excuse?" You immediately change your mind. Excuses aren't going to do any good. They're not going to help Elliot. "No. Never mind, I don't want to hear your damn excuse. Elliot doesn't need it, he needs YOU. Do you know how many times he's asked to see you? And you didn't even show up once for him? What is wrong with you?"

"Cap'n…"

"Shut up. Every time he asks about you, I have to lie to him. And you know the worst thing? I have to sit there and look at the hurt on his face, knowing that you're just refusing to come, at least to say hello to the man. Well, I'm done covering for you, Olivia."

You walk past her, but stop in the doorway, leaving just a few more words for her as she sits, frozen in the chair in front of your desk. "I know you're scared, Olivia, but so is he. And he needs you."

She turns towards you and you watch as she blinks hard. There's moisture in her eyes- tears.

"I don't know if I can…" she stops, biting on her bottom lip as she drops her gaze. "I can't see him like that."

"He has to live like that," you answer softly. "Who do you think has it harder?"

With those words hanging in the air, you leave her sitting in your office.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter, Olivia finally goes to the hospital. Review? :)


	11. Reunited

Elliot is sleeping. You know because you've already peaked through the window and saw his lax body and closed eyes.

Your hand is wrapped around the door handle, but you're frozen. You should leave. You should just turn around and walk back down the hallway. You can't do this.

But Cragen's words swirl around in your head, refusing to silence.

 _If it were you, he would have been there every second before and after you woke up._

In your heart, you know he's right. No matter what sort of fight you and he had, if you were the one laying in that hospital bed, Elliot would be there for you every second of every day. You would have woken up with his hand wrapped around yours and exhausted blue eyes staring down at you. He would have been so happy to see you awake. You would have had to kick him out to get him to go home, and even then, you doubt that he would.

Your fingers squeeze the door handle. He deserves the same treatment. He at least deserves to see you. You suck in a shaking breath, and before you can convince yourself to leave, push it open.

The light in the room is on and there's a half-empty plate of breakfast on the table next to him. He didn't mean to fall asleep- you can tell by the way his head is lolled to the side, the blanket is thrown off of him and his arms are slack by his sides. He looks peaceful. There's still an I.V. in his arm, but it's disconnected. Most of the machines that you've grown used to seeing next to him have disappeared. The gray t-shirt he wears is baggy and loose, emphasizing all the weight he's lost. He looks so small.

You swallow hard. Small- a word you never thought you'd use to describe him.

His jaw twitches. You think for a moment about running as fast as you can towards the exit, but you remain frozen where you stand, watching him as he slowly begins to wake. His eyes open and almost immediately catch yours.

"Liv," he murmurs. He blinks hard, like he doesn't believe it's really you standing in the doorway of his room.

You're being pulled in two completely different directions- part of you needs to close the distance between you and him and take him into your arms, let the tears fall, tell him how much you desperately needed him over the past few months. The other wants to slide back through the hospital room door, run, and never walk into this room again. You can't hear him stutter and struggle with his words. You can't see him crumble from one of the overpowering migraines your captain told you about.

But he's staring at you with his wide, sparkling blue eyes, looking so happy and relieved that you can't walk back through that door. His eyes… you're almost unsettled by how exactly the same they look as before the shooting. Like almost three months doesn't sit between today and the last time you sat with him and had an actual conversation.

"Hey, El," you whisper finally.

The distance between the two of you is slowly closing. Your eyes do not leave his body- his set jaw, the way he sits up on his own even as the bed behind his back offers support, his baggy blue sweatpants and hospital socks, the messy sheets beneath him and the blanket thrown to one side. You can just imagine him throwing it off of himself with disgust. He's always hated hospitals. You can imagine how terribly he wants to get out of here.

You mean to sit in the chair beside him, but instead you find yourself perching on the edge of his bed, inches from his warm body. Your face is so close to his- your back nearly brushes against his hip.

This close, you can decipher the emotion in his eyes. They're glistening, wet, but also, at least in part, dull. You never thought you'd be able to see signs of his injuries in something as simple as his eyes. Your heart stings.

His Adam's apple bobs as he stares at you. You watch as his right hand twitches as it rests on the mattress, but other than that, he doesn't move. Doesn't reach for you, even though you knows he wants to.

Your right hand finds his bicep. He doesn't move as you drag your fingertips along the peak of his shoulder, all the way to the seam of his shirt and along the warm skin of his neck. Relief almost immediately pools in the pit of your stomach, and you're amazed by how one simple gesture affects you so much. The hair on his face is rough and tickles your skin as you gently palm his cheek.

Before you know it, your arm is wrapped around his back and you're pulling him close. His head falls against your shoulder and you take the deepest breath since this nightmare started. His body is so warm. You feel the muscles in his arms as he wraps one of them around you, his breath against the skin of your neck. Your body slackens against him with complete and utter relief- he's alright. Thank God he's breathing, he's holding you back instead of pushing you away and calling you out for the terrible partner you've been. He's actually holding you and you wish you could just stay in this moment forever. Never have to deal with why he's laying in this bed. Never see him experience any more pain. Never have to wade through the complexities of your relationship with him. Just sit here with him in your arms and forget the fucked up things that have led you and him here and what you have to do to fix everything.

But you can't do that. So your arms slowly unwind from him and he draws his body away from yours.

"I'm glad," he murmurs, his voice heavy with emotion, "you're here."

"Me too," you whisper. Your hand is still on his shoulder, and you can't find it in you to move it. Instead, you blink hard to get rid of the moisture in your eyes, only to see some gathered in his. God… how could you have waited this long to sit beside him again? How could you even question this moment of absolute relief, of warmth as you sit beside him?

Your arm finally drops off of his shoulder. You immediately feel the loss, and there are many things that you think you should say- how much you missed him. How much you regret that bullshit argument that you had in the bullpen. And most of all, how much you wish that it had been you on that rooftop with him. How much you wish that it was you laying in this bed instead of him.

But you can't get all of those words out. Instead, you ask him about the one thing that you know will make him smile. "See the kids?"

You were right. A broad smile slides across his face and it makes your own lips turn upwards. "Mhm. Doin' great. Kathleen told me 'bout her play." He frowns. "Shit… no… _Lizzie_."

There it is- you almost choke on air as the relief you'd felt quickly drains away.

 _He's having trouble processing speech. Thinking of certain words. Putting sentences together. Understanding complex sentences._

 _When I asked him to read off a sheet of paper, he wasn't able to._

You suddenly remember why you waited so long to come here. He just confused two of the most important people in his life.

"Liv?"

His voice pulls you back to the surface. You still feel like you're going to drown, but his eyes are on you, wide, concerned.

 _Keep him calm. Keep him calm. He doesn't need this from you right now._

You were expecting this. You knew what was going to happen. You knew what you'd have to face coming here today.

"You okay?"

 _He has to live like that. Who do you think has it harder?_

"I'm fine," you breathe. Your hand squeezes around his as you shove your thoughts as far away as they'll go. "I saw Lizzie's play. It was great, she can't wait for you to see her next one."

He smiles sadly at you. "Wish I hadn't missed this one."

"That wasn't your fault, El," you say. "Lizzie understands. She, Maureen, Kathleen and Dickie are just happy you're alright."

Elliot's eyes won't meet yours. He reaches for the paper cup on the table next to him and takes a sip instead. You watch as he reaches for the pitcher, but his hands are shaking so badly you think he'll drop it before he can fill up his cup.

"Here, let me." Your hand covers his. He lets you take the pitcher and watches as you pour the water. When you hand the cup to him, he takes it.

"Thanks."

But he still won't look at you. You think you see a tint of red on his cheeks, but that's impossible because he's too strong to feel embarrassed like this.

 _Was_ too strong.

He takes a long, slow sip of his water. His hands are still shaking. You want to grab them and hold them just so they'll stay still. "El," you whisper. "You know it's not your fault… right?"

"Yeah," he says finally, but his eyes squint as they look past you. You'd spend hours just trying to convince him that this whole mess isn't his fault, that his children love him, that no one should be blamed for this whole mess except the man that pulled a gun on him and perhaps yourself. But you remember Doctor Lima's words- _keep him calm._ Hearing that comment about Kathleen and Lizzie had almost sent you into a tailspin, you're not sure you can handle any more right now. So instead, you reach over him to grab the television remote on the other side of the bed.

"What do you think? I bet we could find something decent to watch on here."

"You'd be, um… surprised," Elliot grumbles, but you flip through the channels anyway, searching for anything that you know he enjoys as you ignore his hesitation as he tried to find words.

For a while, you reach no such luck. Instead, you and he make fun of the terrible soap operas that are on at this time of the late morning. After a while, Elliot takes the remote from you and flips through each channel himself. He passes most of them with disinterest until he reaches a sports talk program, which he hesitates on. You hate these damn shows. You hate sports, really. But before he has a chance to change the channel, you take the remote back from him and set it down on the table. You're willing to suffer through two men yelling at each other about what team can hit a ball with a stick the most if it keeps him happy.

In the early afternoon, a woman comes in with a tray for his lunch. He drinks water, has the coffee, and eats the cups of fresh fruit and Jello, but only nibbles at the chicken soup they provided.

"Eat up," you say gently, prodding at his ribs. "You've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Mm," he answers noncommittally, stirring the soup with his spoon. He sips at the broth but drops it immediately back into the ceramic bowl. "Try this and tell me how… _hungry_ you are."

"Next time I'll bring you something more appetizing, how does that sound?"

His eyes light up and you know what he's thinking. _Next time._

There's another knock on the door. An older woman with gray streaks in her hair pushing a cart with a laptop on it slides into the room.

"Hello," she greets kindly. "I'm Jillian, you must be Olivia."

Your heart jumps. He's talked about you. Probably telling her how long he's been waiting for you to finally come see him.

You offer the old nurse a small smile. "Yeah. I just came by to say hello."

"Well, don't let me disturb you. I just came to check on Elliot." Her soft eyes fall to the bed. "How're you feeling this afternoon?"

Elliot glances at you before answering. "Not bad."

You squeeze his hand, suddenly feeling awkward as you watch Jillian take Elliot's arm and starts to wrap a blood pressure cuff around it. He watches her with mild disinterest, makes a bad joke about how he needs to start getting the gym soon because the cuff wraps around his arm a lot looser than it has in the past.

"I should go," you say as Jillian tears the velcro away. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Elliot's eyes fall back on you and you see the disappointment there. "Hope so," he rumbles.

You stand in the doorway and watch for a moment as Jillian types in her computer and takes a minute to fold the blanket that's wadded up next to him. The second she asks him to spell his first name, you push off of the doorframe and walk towards the elevator.

There's no way you're ready to hear his response.

/

It's nearing three o'clock when you enter the squad room. You'd taken the entire day off to go to the hospital, but the thought of going home and allowing yourself to think makes you shiver.

Cragen is sitting at his desk when you walk into his office. He looks up at you and leans back in his chair as you sit down across from him. "Olivia, what's up?"

"I…" you swallow. "I went to go see him."

He nods. "How'd it go?"

You think about the healing scar tissue on his forehead. His guilt over his children that he had no control over. The way he thought of Kathleen instead of Lizzie, and the way his hands shook so badly. Seeing him had felt so damn good. But witnessing those things, the things that made his injuries so apparent…

"I don't know," you whisper. "I didn't think it was going to be easy… but…"

"What happened?" Cragen asks.

Tears form in your eyes. You'd managed to hide them in his room- managed to keep it out of your mind for at least the time that you were still with him, but now…

"He mistook Kathleen for Elizabeth." Your breath hitches. "Before I left… his nurse asked him to spell his name. I…"

"You didn't stick around to hear him answer," Cragen says.

"If I had, what would he have said?" You get to your feet and cross the room to the window that looks into the bullpen. Do you really want to hear his answer? Are you ready to hear it?

"Last time, he spelt it with one 'L'," Cragen says softly. You feel him approach you from behind and set a hand on your shoulder. "E-L-E-O-T. Jill asked him to spell his last name. S-T-A-D-L-I-R. He mixes up his 'b's and 'd's. His 'e's and 'i's, too. When he doesn't know a word, he tries to sound it out. Repeats it out loud."

You never thought this could hurt so much. E-l-e-o-t… He can't spell his name. He can't spell his _name._

Cragen turns you towards him. "He's getting better, Liv. He needs time… and he needs us. We can do this together."

You can do this. You can be his friend, be there for him, just like you've always been. He'll be back to normal soon, and things will go back to being just as they've always been. You won't have to think about him mistaking his kids, not being able to spell his name, stuttering when he tries to speak sometimes or mixing up words.

It'll be fine.

Everything will be fine.

* * *

A/N: Please let me know what you think!


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